The Pauper & The Man of Money.
“Dear me! Poor man!” said Mrs. Jericho, with a look and voice of pity. “Insane, of course.”
“No—not he. Not more mad than thousands of people. For it’s wonderful to think how near conceit is to insanity, and yet how many folks are suffered to go free and foaming with it. Conceit, Sabilla; mere conceit in a rabid state. Of all pride, the worst is the pride of beggary. Of all madness, that madness is the worst and the most disgusting that, squatted upon a dunghill, brags of the straw and muck, as though they were gold and velvet.”
“Very true, indeed, my dear—beautifully true,” said the wife. “But we must make great allowances; when a man is stripped of everything”—
“Well, when he is, it isn’t exactly the time for him to brag of the buff he’s reduced to.”
“My dear!” cried Mrs. Jericho, with the prettiest glance of remonstrance. “My love!”
“Moreover, when a family is stripped of everything,” cried Jericho, “I don’t think it precisely the family to marry into.”
“Why, Solomon, what do you mean?” asked the wife, anxious and foreboding.
“The meaning’s as short and as strong as the marriage service. Your hopeful son is going to marry Bessy.”