"Can't I drink to the beggar, too, whoever he is?" asked Johnny,
and moved his glass and glanced up at Mullins. But his father was
beaming at Mullins in a most unusual way and Johnny got no wine.
With that Ted, the oldest brother, pushed back his chair and
stood and lifted his glass.
"We'll drink," he said, and bowed formally to Johnny, "to the
gentleman who is covering us all with glory, to the new
superintendent of the Oriel mine, Mr. John Archer McLean,"
and they stood and drank the toast. Johnny, more or less dizzy,
more or less scarlet, crammed his hands in his pockets and
started and turned redder, and brought out interrogations in
the nervous English which is acquired at our great institutions
of learning.
"Gosh! are you all gone dotty?" he asked. And "Is this a merry
jape?" And "Why, for cat's sake, can't you tell a fellow what's
up your sleeve?" While the family sipped champagne and regarded him.
"Now, if I've squirmed for you enough, I wish you'd explain--
father, tell me!" the boy begged.
And the tale was told by the family, in chorus, without politeness,
interrupting freely. It seemed that the president of the big mine
needed a superintendent, and wishing young blood and the latest
ideas had written to the head of the Mining Department in the
School of Technology to ask if he would give him the name of the
ablest man in the graduating class--a man to be relied on for
character as much as brains, he specified, for the rough army of
miners needed a general at their head almost more than a scientist.
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