Poor as he was, Mr. Underwood had never lost general respect.
Something there was in his fine presence and gentlemanly demeanour,
and still more in his showing no false shame, making no pretensions,
and never having a debt. Doctors' bills had pressed him heavily, but
he had sacrificed part of his small capital rather than not pay his
way; and thus no one guessed at the straits of the household. Mr.
Froggatt had never supposed he would entertain for a moment the idea
of letting his eldest son, a fine clever and studious lad, undertake
a little country business, and yet the old bookseller had come to
wish it very much on his own account. As he explained to Mr.
Underwood, he loved his old business, and knew that with more
education he should have been able to make more of it. His elder son
had died just as intelligence and energy were opening up plans that
would have made both the shop and the newspaper valuable and
beneficial; while Charles's desertion left them decline with his
father's declining years, and in danger of being supplanted by some
brisk new light. Felix Underwood was indeed very young, but he had
already proved his power of usefulness, and a very few years would
make him capable of being a right hand to the old man, and he might
in time make a position for himself.
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