"While as for myself, Julia," sighed my uncle Jervas, "my fellow
discovered no fewer than four white hairs above my right ear this
morning, alas! And look at poor George--as infernally grey as a
badger."
"I think," said my aunt, leaning back in her chair, "I think we were
discussing my nephew Peregrine--"
"Our mutual ward--precisely, Julia."
"Aye," quoth uncle George, "we are legal guardians of the lad and--"
"Fie, George!" cried aunt Julia. "A vulgar word, an unseemly word!"
"Eh? Word, Julia? What word?"
"'Lad'!" exclaimed my aunt, frowning. "A most obnoxious word,
applicable only to beings with pitchforks and persons in sleeved
waistcoats who chew straws and attend to horses. Lads pertain only to
your world! Peregrine never was, will, or could be such a thing!"
"Good God!" exclaimed my uncle George feebly, and groped for his
short, crisp-curling whisker with fumbling fingers.
"Peregrine never was, will, or could be such a thing!" repeated my
aunt in a tone of finality.
"Then what the dev--"
"George!"
"I should say then--pray, Julia, what the--hum--ha--is he?"
"Being my nephew, he is a young gentleman, of course!"
"Ha!" quoth my uncle George.
"Hum!" sighed my uncle Jervas. "A gentleman is usually a better man
for having been a lad! As to our nephew--"
"Pray, Jervas," said aunt Julia, lifting white imperious hand, "suffer
me one word, at least; in justice to myself I can sit mute no
longer--"
"Mute?" exclaimed uncle George, grasping whisker again.
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