England -- Fiction; Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Sisters -- Fiction
“She was just going out to walk with her pugs. Angel began to--you know,
and for the moment she could think of nothing else; when the little
beast had finished I had forgotten the thread of my argument. However,
I spoke to her about Grace; and she promised that she shouldn't meet
the fellow again. I can't think of his name, I get lost in the different
names, and they are all so alike I scarcely know one from the other. I
have had nothing but trouble since your poor mother died. Your sisters
give me a great deal of trouble, and you have given me a great deal
of trouble. We couldn't get on in business together on account of your
infernal slowness. No man is more for keeping his accounts and letters
straight than I, but your exactitude drives me mad; it drives me mad;
there you are at it again. I should like to know what you are copying
into that diary. One would think you were writing an article for the
_Times_, from the care with which you're drawing out every letter; 'pon
my word it isn't writing at all, it's painting. You can't write for a
pair of boots without taking a copy of the letter, entering it into this
book, and entering it into that book; 'pon my word it is maddening.”
Willy laughed. “Each person has his own way of doing business; I don't
see how it interferes with you, or what difference it makes to you, if I
spend three minutes or three days writing a letter.”
“Perhaps not, perhaps not; but I am terribly upset about Grace,” said
Mr. Brookes, and he walked slowly across the room and stood looking at
his Bouguereau; “she'll get over it, but in any case she'll miss her
chance of marrying Berkins; that is what distresses me. The man stinks
of money. I hear that he has been appointed manager of a colliery, that
alone will bring him another thousand a year. His business is going up,
he must be worth now between seven and eight thousand a year. And he
began as an office boy, he hadn't a penny piece, made it all himself.”
“So I should think; a purse-proud ass!”
“Never mind, his eight thousand is as good an eight thousand as any in
the land, better than a great many. I wouldn't give a snap of my fingers
for your broken-down landowners; Berkins has always made excellent
investments, and I hear he is now getting as much as fifteen per cent.
for money invested.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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