"
The boy spoke cheerfully, but yet not in the same natural way as
before.
"I wish I could afford to make you something better, my lad; you
ought to be something better by rights. And I don't well know what
you'll find to do in this little shop. The business might be better;
yes, might be better. You won't have much practice in dispensing,
I'm afraid, unless things improve. It is mostly hair-oil,--and the
patent medicines. It's a poor look-out for you, Julian."
There was a silence.
"Harriet isn't quite well yet, is she?" Smales went on, half to
himself.
"No, she looked poorly to-night."
"Julian," began the other, but paused, rubbing his hands more
nervously than ever.
"Yes, uncle?"
"I wonder what 'ud become of her if I--if I died now? You're
growing up, and you're a clever lad; you'll soon be able to shift
for yourself. But what'll Harriet do? If only she had her health.
And I shall have nothing to leave either her or you, Julian,--
nothing,--nothing! She'll have to get her living somehow. I must
think of some easy business for her, I must. She might be a teacher,
but her head isn't strong enough, I fear. Julian--"
"Yes, uncle?"
"You--you are old enough to understand things, my boy," went on
his uncle, with quavering voice.
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