unds sterling in trust for the boy.

As somebody wittily remarked at the time, young John, at his father's
death and during his minority, was a monetary Mohammed--he hovered
between two worlds: the Rushbrookes, on one side, who had not two
sixpences to rub against each other, and the Brownes, on the other, who
reckoned their wealth in millions and talked of thousands as we humbler
mortals do of half-crowns. Taken altogether, however, old Brown was
not a bad sort of fellow. Unlike so many parvenus, he had the good
sense, the "e" always excepted, not to set himself up to be what he
certainly was not. He was a working-man, he would tell you with a
twinkle in his eye, and he had made his own way in the world. He had
never in his life owed a halfpenny, nor, to the best of his knowledge,
had he ever defrauded anybody; and, if he _had_ made his fortune out of
soap, well--and here his eyes would glisten--soap was at least a useful
article, and would wash his millions cleaner than a good many other
commodities he might mention. In his tastes and habits he was
simplicity itself. Indeed, it was no unusual sight to see the old
fellow, preparatory to setting off for the City, coming down the steps
of his magnificent town house, dressed in a suit of rough tweed, with
the famous bird's-eye neck-cloth loosely twisted round his throat, and
the soft felt hat upon his head--two articles of attire which no
remonstrance on the part of his wife and no amount of ridicule from the
comic journals could ever induce him to discard. His stables were full
of carriages, and there was a cab-rank within a hundred yards of his
front door, yet no one had ever seen him set foot in either. The soles
of his boots were thick, and he had been accustomed to walk all his
life, he would say, and he had no intention of being carried till he
was past caring what became of him. With regard to his son, the apple
of his eye, and the pride of his old age, his views were entirely
different. Nothing was good enough for the boy. From the moment he
opened his eyes upon the light, all the luxuries and advantages wealth
could give were showered upon him. Before he was short-coated, upwards
of a million had been placed to his credit at the bank, not to be
touched until he came of age. After he had passed from a dame's school
to Eton, he returned after every holiday with sufficient money loose in
his pocket to have treated the whole school. When, in the proper o