"My father is universally respected, I am sure, but he rose from the ranks.

He was once a printer's devil, like my friend Harry Walton.
Wouldn't it be ridiculous in me to turn up my nose at Walton, just because be stands now where my father did thirty years ago?
It would be the same thing as sneering at father." "Give us your hand, Oscar," said Henry Fairbanks.

"You've got no nonsense about you--I like you." "I'm not sure whether your compliment is deserved, Henry," said Oscar, "but if I have any nonsense it isn't of that kind." "Do you believe Fitz has any suspicion that he has a cousin in the tin business ?" "No; I don't believe he has.

He must know he has poor relations, living in the country, but he probably thinks as little as possible about them.

As long as they don't intrude themselves upon his greatness, I suppose he is satisfied." "And as long as no one suspects that he has any connection with such plebeians." "Of course." "What sort of a man is this tin-pedler, Tom ?" asked Oscar.
"He's a pretty sharp fellow--not educated, or polished, you know, but he seems to have some sensible ideas.