“And would not feel any dust in their eyes?”
“No,” said Mr. Newt, following his son closely.
“Well, then; don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t see,” replied the father; “that is, I don’t see what you mean.”
“Why, father, look here! I come into your business. The fact is known. People look. There’s no whisper against the house. We extend ourselves; we live liberally, but we pay the bills. Every body says, ‘Newt & Son are doing a thumping business.’ Perhaps we are—perhaps we are not. We are crossing the bridge of credit. Before people know that we have been living up to our incomes—quite up, father dear”—Mr. Newt frowned an entire assent—“we have plenty of money!”
“How, in Heaven’s name!” cried Boniface Newt, springing up, and in so loud a tone that the clerks looked in from the outer office.
“By my marriage,” returned Abel, quietly.
“With whom?” asked Mr. Newt, earnestly.
“With an heiress.”
“What’s her name?”