“Oh dear, yes,” replied Mrs. Newt. “But you know what young sons are, Mr. Van Boozenberg.’”
The conversation was setting precisely as that gentleman wished, and as he had intended to direct it.
“Mercy, yes, Mrs. Newt! Ma sez to me, ‘Pa, what a boy Corlear is! how he does spend money!’ And I sez to ma, ‘Ma, he do.’ Tut, tut! The bills. I have to pay for that bay—! I s’pose, now, your Abel don’t lay up no money—ha! ha!”
Mr. Van Boozenberg laughed again, and Mrs. Newt joined, but in a low and rather distressed way, as if it were necessary to laugh, although nothing funny had been said.
“It’s positively dreadful the way he spends money,” replied she. “I don’t know where it will end.”
“Oh ho! it’s the way with all young men, marm. I always sez to ma she needn’t fret her gizzard. Young men will sow their wild oats. Oh, ‘tain’t nothin’. Mr. Newt knows that werry well. Every man do.”
He watched Mrs. Newt’s expression as he spoke. She answered,
“I don’t know about that; but Mr. Newt shakes his head dismally nowadays about something or other, and he’s really grown old.”
In uttering these words Mrs. Newt had sealed the fate of a large offering for discount made that very day by Boniface Newt, Son, & Co.