Then you see I had a right to refer to you.

Now listen to my prediction.

Twenty-five years from now, the boy whom you look down upon as a vulgar apprentice will occupy a high position, and you will be glad to number him among your acquaintances." "Speak for yourself, Oscar," said Fletcher, scornfully.
"I speak for both of us." "Then I say I hope I can command better associates than this friend of yours." "You may, but I doubt it." "You seem to be carried away by him," said Fitzgerald, pettishly.

"I don't see anything very wonderful about him, except dirty hands." "Then you have seen more than I have." "Of course a fellow who meddles with printer's ink must have dirty hands.

Faugh!" said Fletcher, turning up his nose.
At the same time he regarded complacently his own fingers, which he carefully kept aloof from anything that would soil or mar their aristocratic whiteness.
"The fact is, Fitz," said Oscar, argumentatively, "our upper ten, as we call them, spring from just such beginnings as my friend Harry Walton.