"Ah, but it has. How long a time did that man give me, Mary—he that got the twenty pounds? They gave a fellow twenty pounds to come and tell me that I was dying! as if I didn't know that without him."
"We thought it right to get the best advice we could, George," said poor Miss Baker.
"Nonsense!" said the old man, almost in his olden voice. "You'll find by-and-by that twenty pounds are not so easy to come by. George, as you are here, I might as well tell you about my money."
George begged him not to trouble himself about such a matter at present; but this was by no means the way in which to propitiate his uncle.
"And if I don't talk of it now, when am I to do it? Go away, Mary—and look here—come up again in about twenty minutes. What I have got to say won't take me long." And so Miss Baker left the room.
"George," said his uncle, "I wonder whether you really care about money? sometimes I have almost thought that you don't."
"I don't think I do very much, sir."
"Then you must be a great fool."
"I have often thought I am, lately."
"A very great fool. People preach against it, and talk against it, and write against it, and tell lies against it; but don't you see that everybody is fighting for it? The parsons all abuse it; but did you ever know one who wouldn't go to law for his tithes? Did you ever hear of a bishop who didn't take his dues?"