“Misfortune and the wrong of others might make all this true of us,” began the youth impetuously; “and yet if old friends should turn their backs—­”

“You are not an old friend,” his uncle again interrupted, in his hard, business-like tones.  “They are merely accidental acquaintances, who happened to board at your father’s house last summer.  They haven’t the ghost of a claim upon you.  It looks far more as if you were in love with the girl, and were making a romantic fool of yourself.”

Roger’s face grew very white, but he controlled himself, and asked, “Uncle, have I ever treated you with disrespect?”

“Certainly not; why should you?”

“With some right I may also ask why you treat me with such disrespect?”

The old man opened his eyes, and was somewhat taken aback by this unexpected question, and yet a moment’s reflection showed him that he had given cause for it.  He also misunderstood his nephew, and resumed, with a short conciliatory laugh, “I guess I’m the fool, to be imagining all this nonsense.  Of course you are too much of an Atwood to entangle yourself with such people and spoil your prospects for life.  Look here, Roger.  I’ll be frank with you, and then we’ll understand each other.  You know I’ve neither chick nor child, and I’ve turned a good big penny in business.  When you first came I thought you were a rattle-pated country boy that wanted a lark in the city, and I took you more to keep you out of mischief than for any other cause.  Well, I’ve watched you closely, and I was mistaken.  You’ve got the stuff in you to make a man, and I see no reason why you should not be at the top of the heap before you reach my years, and I mean to give you a chance.  You’ve got a little soft place in your head and heart, or you wouldn’t be getting yourself mixed up in other people’s troubles.  I tell you what it is, my boy, a man who gets ahead in these times must strike right out for himself, and steer clear of all fouling with ‘ne’er-do-weels,’ as if they had a pestilence.  Hook on to the lucky ones, the strong ones, and they’ll help you along.  Now if you’ll take this course and follow my advice right along, I’ll give you a chance with the first.  You shall go to the best college in the land, next to the law-school, and then have money enough to enable you to strike high.  By the time you are thirty you can marry an heiress.  But no more Jocelyns and shop-girls who have been at stationhouses, if you please.  The girl may have been innocent of that offence; but, plain man as I am, I don’t like this style of people at all, and I know human nature well enough to be sure that they’ll try to tie themselves on to you if they can.  I’ve thought it all out in my slow way, and, since you’ve got it in you, I’m going to give you a chance to put the Atwood name where I can’t, with all my money.”