as for the present, he could afford me no salary, allowed me to profit, at discretion, by his advice.
“My dear Thingum,” said he to me one day after dinner, “I respect your abilities and love you as a son. You shall be my heir. When I die I will bequeath you the Lollipop . In the meantime I will make a man of you—I will —provided always that you follow my counsel. The first thing to do is to get rid of the old bore.”
“Boar?” said I inquiringly—“pig, eh?— aper ? (as we say in Latin)—who?—where?”
“Your father,” said he.
“Precisely,” I replied—“pig.”
“You have your fortune to make, Thingum,” resumed Mr. Crab, “and that governor of yours is a millstone about your neck. We must cut him at once.” [Here I took out my knife.] “We must cut him,” continued Mr. Crab, “decidedly and forever. He won’t do—he won’t . Upon second thoughts, you had better kick him, or cane him, or something of that kind.”