“Not so,” said Carraways, placidly. “Indeed, not so. Strange as it may seem to you, poverty has made me a believer in more goodness than I dreamt of before. However, I didn’t come to talk of that.”
“I suppose not,” said Jericho.
“But, bless me!” cried the persevering Carraways, “how thin you are! Why, you can have no bowels.”
Mr. Jericho said nothing. He merely drew himself up, using a snaky motion of the head to express his silent contempt of the doubt. And silence was best. What spoken answer would have better met such unbelief?
“But as I say,” repeated Carraways, “I didn’t come to talk about that. I come—now attend to me, if you please, Solomon Jericho”—and Jericho fell flat against the back of his chair, astounded at the pauper’s impudence—“attend to me. I didn’t come to talk of that. I came here, at once, to renounce all right and title, for me and mine by gift or will now and for evermore,—all right, I say, to a shilling of your money.”
“I think,” said Mr. Jericho suddenly recovering himself, “I think you give yourself a very needless trouble.”
“Well, I hope so,” answered Carraways. “Still, I would not risk a mistake. Your son-in-law”—
“Humph!” said Jericho, and with studied sarcasm. “Son-in-law! Yes; the law bears very hard on us, now and then.”
“Has proposed to marry my Bessy. I have consented; and after what I’ve said, I suppose, Mr. Jericho, you can have no objection to the match?”
“Really, Gilbert Carraways,” replied the Man of Money, smiling the while, “why should I? Your conditions are so advantageous, that I should be a fool as well as a monster to come between two doting hearts. All I can say is, I wish you joy of the young gentleman.”