Miss Wilde was generally accompanied by her hand-bag, and that receptacle was capable of an endless yield of documents calculated to irritate and perplex her brother-in-law. Mrs. Floyd encouraged this. Who, indeed, should take an interest in the affairs of her own sister if not her own husband?
One morning Ann produced a memorandum that stunned him. As he studied it she stood above him like the spirit of Bankruptcy.
"For Heaven's sake, Walworth, tell me what it means. Am I a ruined woman, or what?"
Floyd glanced at the sum total; the figures mounted high. "They have struck you pretty hard, that's a fact."
It was a bill for special assessments levied on the possessions of Ann E. Wilde, in one of McDowell's subdivisions. Paving, so much; sewers and water-mains, so much; stone sidewalk, so much.
"And eighteen dollars and a half for a quarter of a lamp-post," wailed Ann. "Why, Walworth, I haven't got the money on hand for all this; I never anticipated such a thing."
"What's a quarter of a lamp-post good for?" asked her sister.
"I suppose the cost is levied on four property-owners," said her husband.
"And who's going to see by it when it's up?" asked the disconsolate investor. "Nobody ever goes past."
"Not this year, perhaps; but there'll be plenty next year. You've no idea how the town is spreading about. Why don't you step upstairs and see McDowell?"