“Why, there’s only one, of course.”
“Why, I was credibly informed this morning that there were seventeen carriages here besides the barouche and the carryall.”
“Who could have told you such a thing as that? And then to think of anybody accusing Wyanoke of a ‘carryall!’ ”
“How do you mean, Aunt Polly?”
“Why, no gentleman keeps a carryall. I believe Moses the storekeeper at the Court House has one, but then he has nine children and needs it. Besides he doesn’t count.”
“Why not, Aunt Polly? Isn’t he a man like the rest of us?”
“A man? Yes, but like the rest of us—no. He isn’t a gentleman.”
“Does he misbehave very grossly?”
“Oh, no. He is an excellent man I believe, and his children are as pretty as angels; but, Arthur, he keeps a store.”
Aunt Polly laid a stress upon the final phrase as if that settled the matter beyond even the possibility of further discussion.