ney; behind
him, although the morning was both chill and dark, the window was partly
open and the blind partly down: I cannot depict what an air he had of
being out of place, like a man shipwrecked there. Uncle Adam had his
station at the business-table in the midst. Valuable rows of books
looked down upon the place of torture; and I could hear sparrows
chirping in the garden, and my sprightly cousin already banging the
piano and pouring forth an acid stream of song from the drawing-room
overhead.

It was in these circumstances that, with all brevity of speech and a
certain boyish sullenness of manner, looking the while upon the floor, I
informed my relatives of my financial situation: the amount I owed
Pinkerton; the hopelessness of any maintenance from sculpture; the
career offered me in the States; and how, before becoming more beholden
to a stranger, I had judged it right to lay the case before my family.

"I am only sorry you did not come to me at first," said Uncle Adam. "I
take the liberty to say it would have been more decent."

"I think so too, Uncle Adam," I replied; "but you must bear in mind I
was ignorant in what light you might regard my application."

"I hope I would never turn my back on my own flesh and blood," he
returned with emphasis; but, to my anxious ear, with more of temper than
affection. "I could never forget you were my sister's son. I regard this
as a manifest duty. I have no choice but to accept the entire
responsibility of the position you have made."

I did not know what else to do but murmur "Thank you."

"Yes," he pursued, "and there is something providential in the
circumstance that you come at the right time. In my old firm there is a
vacancy; they call themselves Italian Warehousemen now," he continued,
regarding me with a twinkle of humour; "so you may think yourself in
luck: we were only grocers in my day. I shall place you there
to-morrow."

"Stop a moment, Uncle Adam," I broke in. "This is not at all what I am
asking. I ask you to pay Pinkerton, who is a poor man. I ask you to
clear my feet of debt, not to arrange my life or any part of it."

"If I wished to be harsh, I might remind you that beggars cannot be
choosers," said my uncle; "and as to managing your life, you have tried
your own way already, and you see what you have made of it. You must now
accept the guidance of those older and (whatever you may think of it)
wiser than yourself. All these schemes of your frien