And this young Clive is going to turn painter!"
"Very advantageous thing for the family. He'll do our pictures for
nothing. I always said he was a darling boy," simpered Barnes.
"Darling jackass!" growled out the senior. "Confound it, why doesn't my
brother set him up in some respectable business? I ain't proud. I have
not married an earl's daughter. No offence to you, Barnes."
"Not at all, sir. I can't help it if my grandfather is a gentleman," says
Barnes, with a fascinating smile.
The uncle laughs. "I mean I don't care what a fellow is if he is a good
fellow. But a painter! hang it--a painter's no trade at all--I don't
fancy seeing one of our family sticking up pictures for sale. I don't
like it, Barnes."
"Hush! here comes his distinguished friend, Mr. Pendennis," whispers
Barnes; and the uncle growling out, "Damn all literary fellows--all
artists--the whole lot of them!" turns away. Barnes waves three languid
fingers of recognition towards Pendennis: and when the uncle and nephew
have moved out of the club newspaper room, little Tom Eaves comes up and
tells the present reporter every word of their conversation.
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