Secretly, however, the old man was flattered by his son's love of display, and enjoyed his swaggering air, although nothing would have induced him to confess the fact. His own father had come to Pennsylvania as a servant of one of the first settlers, and the reverence which he had felt, as a boy, for the members of the Quaker and farmer aristocracy of the neighborhood, had now developed into a late vanity to see his own family acknowledged as the equals of the descendants of the former. Alfred had long since discovered that when he happened to return home from the society of the Falconers, or the Caswells, or the Carsons, the old man was in an unusual good-humor. At such times, the son felt sure that he was put down for a large slice of the inheritance. After turning the stick over and over in his skinny hands, and pressing the top of it against his toothless gums, the old man again spoke. “See here, you're old enough now to lead a steady life. You might ha' had a farm o' your own, like Elisha, if you'd done as well. A very fair bit o' money he married,--very fair,--but I don't say you couldn't do as well, or, maybe, better.” “I've been thinking of that, myself,” the son replied. “Have you? Why don't you step up to her then? Ten thousand dollars aren't to be had every day, and you needn't expect to get it without the askin'! Where molasses is dropped, you'll always find more than one fly. Others than you have got their eyes on the girl.” The son's eyes opened tolerably wide when the old man began to speak, but a spark of intelligence presently flashed into them, and an expression of cunning ran over his face. “Don't be anxious, daddy!” said he, with assumed playfulness; “she's not a girl to take the first that offers. She has a mind of her own,--with her the more haste the less speed. I know what I'm about; I have my top eye open, and when there's a good chance, you won't find me sneaking behind the wood-house.” “Well, well!” muttered the old man, “we'll see,--we'll see! A good family, too,--not that I care for that. My family's as good as the next. But if you let her slip, boy”--and here he brought down the end of his stick with a significant whack, upon the floor. “This I'll tell you,” he added, without finishing the broken sentence, “that whether you're a rich man or a beggar, depends on yourself. The more you have, the more you'll get; remember that! Bring me my brandy!”