"Yes; well?"
"Oh!" says mother. "I have known Tincrofts before in my time. You see, sir, before mother got so overgrowed with starving, she was out and about a good deal, here and there as a monthly—" and here Mr. Barry jerked his head once or twice knowingly—
("Monthly! What's that?" John put to himself, mentally, for the term was lost upon him. Not to appear ignorant, however, he nodded his head, too; and Barry went on.)
"And so got acquainted with a many high families. And by reason of this," continued the dutiful, "she laid up a good bit of money against the rainy day; so now she lives comfortable if it wasn't for her fatness, which is none of her choosing, if you'll believe me, sir."
John Tincroft showed no signs of disbelief, so Mr. Barry still proceeded.
"The house we live in is mother's, sir; she bought it and paid for it, and set me up with furniture, wife and all, fifteen years ago, bless her; and I'm down in her will for everything when she dies, which," added the son, "won't be for many years to come, if God pleases. Only as she is five-and-seventy, if ever a day, and with her fat, too, much isn't to be expected."
"I dare say not," said John, dreamily, for he was wondering what would come next. Then he added, "And your good mother, did you say she wishes to see me?"
"Ever since she heard of your being a Tincroft, sir; and more particularly when I happened to mention your having come up from Sussex, where you had been on some law business, as you told me, sir. I hope there was no harm in mentioning that?" said Barry, solicitously.
"None at all."
"Thank ye, sir."