"Fine, thanks," said Henry, but his tone was so subdued and joyless that his uncle stared at him for a moment, and then went over to close the door. Standing with his back to it, Mr. Starkweather smiled reminiscently and a trifle ruefully, and began to peel the band from a cigar. "What's the matter? Mirabelle say anything to you?" "Why--nothing special." His uncle hesitated. "In a good many ways," he said, lowering his voice, "Mirabelle puts me in mind of my father. When he was a boy, out in the country, he'd had to smash the ice in the water-pitcher every mornin', and he was proud of it--thought a boy that hadn't earned some of his godliness with an ice-pick was a dude. Thought what was good enough for his father was good enough for _him_, and sometimes it was _too_ good. Didn't believe in modern improvements like telephones and easy chairs and three-tined forks; didn't believe in labour-savin' devices because labour wasn't _meant_ to be saved. Bible says for us to work six days a week, and if he ever had any spare time before Sat'day night, he figured he must have forgot somethin'. Business--well, he called advertisin' a rich man's luxury, and said an audit was an insult to his partners. Said he'd welcome a sheriff sooner'n he would an expert accountant--and in the long run, that's exactly what he _did_. Involuntary bankruptcy--found his sanctimonious old cashier'd been sanctimoniously lootin' the till for eighteen years." He paused, and eyed his cigar. "Well, Mirabelle's cut more or less off the same piece. Lord, I wish _she_ could go through some kind of bankruptcy, if 't would shake her up like it did father." "It--shook him up, did it?" inquired Henry, fidgeting. "Well," said his uncle, "after the crash, I don't recollect he ever mentioned the good old times again except once; and that was to praise the good old habit of takin' defaulters and boilin' 'em in oil. No, sir, he wouldn't so much as add two and two together without an addin' machine, and he used to make an inventory of his shirts and winter flannels pretty near every week. And Mirabelle's the same way; she's still tryin' to live under the 1874 rules." He came back to his desk, and sat down thoughtfully. "Well, she's been talkin' to me ever since you went off on this party and as far's most of it's concerned, I'm not on _her_ side, and I'm not on _your_ side; I'm sort of betwixt and between." He looked sidewise at Henry, and discovered that Henry was peering off into space, and smiling as though he saw a vision in the clouds. "Just as man to man, just for the information; suppose you passed up everything I've said to you, and went and got married one of these days--did you expect I'd go on supportin' you?" Henry came down to earth, and his expression showed that he had landed heavily. "Why--what was that?"