Comethup looked at him in some amazement. "You--you're my Uncle Robert, of course," he said.
"Call me Bob," said Mr. Carlaw, with some emotion. "My friends have always called me Bob; had they called me by any other name it might have been better for me. But Bob was a good fellow; Bob had his hand in his pocket for a friend; Bob hadn't the slightest notion of that simple word 'no'; in short, Bob, in the world's eyes, has been going straight to the devil since he was breeched. Boy"--he laid his hand on Comethup's arm, and Comethup felt that he trembled with agitation--"boy, your Uncle Bob has finished his course; your Uncle Bob is a bankrupt and an outlaw."
For a few moments Comethup was too much shocked to say anything; he sat still, staring helplessly at his uncle, whose head was bowed in a forlorn fashion. He murmured something at last about being very sorry, and Mr. Carlaw felt for his hand and pressed it without looking at him or speaking. Rallying a little presently, the forlorn one raised his head and endeavoured to smile, and looked out hopefully upon the prospect.
"Sunshine--and sympathy; what can a man want more? You're young, Comethup, in the ways of the world--I had almost said simple; the world will try to take advantage of you; will rob you with one hand while it fawns upon you with the other. Beware of it; take your own path straight through life, and trouble not about what any man may say. It's the only way," he added gloomily; "would that I had remembered it in time! For myself, although they have made me a beggar, I care nothing; a crust of bread and a cup of water are all that I ask of any man, and they will probably deny me those. But, my boy, I have responsibilities--I have a son." Here his emotion appeared quite to overmaster him for an instant, and Comethup felt very sorry for him indeed. After a few moments he slapped his breast firmly and coughed, blinked his eyelids, and looked upon the boy with a ghostly smile.
"I think Brian will make his way--will get on, I mean," said Comethup, in the hope of encouraging him.
"Make his way! Get on! You are right; you are very right. The time will surely come when his name will be echoed to the skies; when that which is pent in his father and has found no proper outlet will appear in the son, and gladden the father's heart. It is there; I have proudly watched the beginnings of it; I have, in my poor way, fostered the first trembling attempts. But what is the case--how do we stand? Again comes in the damnable thought of money--money, without which we can do nothing. Like those of commoner clay, we must live--we must eat--we must have fire to warm us--a roof to shelter us. And here, at the very outset of my son's career, I find myself a beggar."