“You didn’t mention the price,” she said at last, patting Morey’s hand.
“Only four hundred dollars!”
His mother laughed nervously. “I’m afraid my boy is a little extravagant,” she remarked slowly.
“Do you know what that engine’s worth!” exclaimed Morey. “It’s worth $800 any day.”
“Well, I suppose the young men of today must have their amusements. Your father’s was horses and hunting. But it did not interfere with his business as a planter. I trust you will not become extreme in the fancy. It must not be carried too far.”
“Too far? I’m not going to do anything else until I get rich.”
“Nothing else? You mean no other amusement?”
“That’s not amusement; it’s business. It’s going to be my job.”
“You mean along with tobacco planting?”