talking in that way. Such things sound so differently in real life;
and I laughed at them till I found that he didn't know what to make
of my laughing, and then I took leave to differ with him in some of
his notions; but he never disputes anything I say, and so makes it
seem rude to differ with him. I always feel, though he begins it,
as if I had thrust my opinions upon him. But in spite of his
weaknesses and disagreeabilities, there is something really _high_
about him; he is so scrupulously true, so exactly just, that Uncle
Jack himself couldn't be more so; though you can see that he respects
his virtues as the peculiar result of some extraordinary system. Here
at Quebec, though he goes round patronizing the landscape and the
antiquities, and coldly smiling at my little enthusiasms, there is
really a great deal that ought to be at least improving in him. I get
to paying him the same respect that he pays himself, and imbues his
very clothes with, till everything he has on appears to look like him
and respect itself accordingly. I have often wondered what his hat,
his honored hat, for instance, would do, if I should throw it out of
the front window. It would make an earthquake, I believe.

He is politely curious about us; and from time to time, in a
shrinking, disgusted way, he asks some leading question about
Eriecreek, which he doesn't seem able to form any idea of, as much
as I explain it. He clings to his original notion, that it is in the
heart of the Oil Regions, of which he has seen pictures in the
illustrated papers; and when I assert myself against his opinions, he
treats me very gingerly, as if I were an explosive sprite, or an
inflammable naiad from a torpedoed well, and it wouldn't be quite
safe to oppose me, or I would disappear with a flash and a bang.

When Dick isn't able to go with me on Fanny's account, Mr. Arbuton