It came July, and even Sewell went away then. He went with a mind at
rest concerning Lemuel's material prospects, and his unquestionable
usefulness and acceptability; but something, at the bottom of his
satisfaction, teased him still: a dumb fear that the boy was
extravagant, a sense that he was somehow different, and not wholly
for the better, from what he had been. He had seen, perhaps, nothing
worse in him than that growth of manner which amused Corey.
"He is putting us on," he said to Bellingham one day, "and making us
fit as well as he can. I don't think we're altogether becoming, but
that's our fault, probably. I can't help thinking that if we were of
better cut and material we should show to better effect upon that
granite soul. I wish Tom were here. I've an idea that Tom would fit
him like a glove. Charles, why don't _you_ pose as a model for
Barker?"
"I don't see why I'm not a very good model without posing," said
Bellingham. "What do you want me to do for him? Take him to the
club? Barker's _not_ very conversational."
"You don't take him on the right topics," said Corey, not minding
that he had left the point. "I assure you that Barker, on any
serious question that comes up in our reading, has a clear head and
an apt tongue of his own. It isn't our manners alone that he
emulates. I can't find that any of us ever dropped an idea or
suggestion of value that Barker didn't pick it up, and turn it to
much more account than the owner.
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