He had a high and very narrow forehead, a pair of piercing gray eyes, which looked at you from under shaggy brows, and a long, thin nose—a nose that seemed formed for thrusting itself into other people’s affairs, and for finding out secrets that its owner had no business to know.
Uncle Bob, as we shall call him in this story, had once been in business for himself; but he was a gentleman of leisure now.
Following the example of more respected men, he had gone as heavily in debt as his limited credit would allow, and failed when the proper time came. But it is a dangerous thing for one to fail in business with his pockets full, unless they are very full, and Uncle Bob’s creditors had looked so closely into his way of doing business, that he barely escaped being taken in hand by the law.
It was from this man that Arthur had inherited his great desire for wealth and his utter abhorrence of any kind of work.
“You are home early to-night,” said Uncle Bob, pausing in his walk.
“Yes,” was the indifferent reply. “And I shall probably be at home earlier to-morrow night. I have got my walking-papers.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Uncle Bob, elevating his shaggy eyebrows. “What for?”
“Too many clerks.”
“And what are you going to do now? You can’t live without work.”
“I know that; but I shall not look for another place until the seventy dollars I have in my pocket are gone. I am going to make believe that it is two thousand, and live like a gentleman for awhile. It is hard to be poor. You don’t respect yourself and no one respects you. What is it, Jane?” he added, turning to the servant girl who just then opened the door.