“My dear Johnny,” said the respectable widow Brag to her son, “what is the good of your going on in this way? Here, instead of minding the business, you are day after day galloping and gallivanting, steeple-chasing, fox-hunting, lord-hunting, a wasting your time and your substance, the shop going to old Nick, and _you_ getting dipped instead of your candles.” “Mother,” said Jack, “don’t talk so foolishly! You are of the old school,--excellent in your way, but a long way behindhand: the business is safe enough. You cannot suppose, with the education I have had, I can meddle with moulds, or look after sixes, tens, fours to the pound, or farthing rushlights;--no, thanks to my enlightenment, I …
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