When the size of her income was explained to her by her lawyer, who was also her neighbour, she cried, in some alarm, “What shall I do?”
He said: “Get a steam yacht. Go into high society, and found a college. Spend it on the heathen. Make your name immortal in Potterville.”
“But,” said Mrs. Mink, narratively, “I thought those were too many different things. But when I was little I often wished I could see the equator, and now I rather wanted to see the heathen, and the idols that have pictures in Sunday-school quarterlies. The more I thought of parrots and monkeys and bananas and Foreign Missions, the more I knew what I ought to do first. Because I knew more about Foreign Missions than about colleges, and I thought tropical countries would be nicer than high society.”
“Admirable!” cried Dr. Ulswater, suddenly. “What logic! For subtle inference and accurate reasoning, look at that!”
Mrs. Mink looked surprised.
“But I felt sure that it would be better to be comfortable while I was examining the missions, so I went to the lawyer, and he sent me to some people who made ships. After that everything was plain.”
“Plain!” cried Dr. Ulswater. “It's a syllogism.”
“The ship-dealer was very kind,” said Mrs. Mink, reflecting. “He got the Violetta and Captain Jansen. It has been quite pleasant so far. But——” She hesitated.
“But you haven't yet seen what you seek for,” said Dr. Ulswater. “You have taken but a step into the imperium of the tropics. You have far to go. I have been on the road these twenty years. Imprimis, I will show you the model upon which the heathen idol is constructed.”
He brought up the cuttlefish from the boat and unbundled it. Mrs. Mink thought it was somewhat uglier than any pictures of heathen idols.