“O, Rip!” I cried again, “it's too glorious to be true.”
“Well, now,” cut in Ripley, “let's be practical. What you want to do is step into your kingdom. Well, to-day's Saturday, isn't it? Well, now, I propose that day after to-morrow, Monday, you and I go to Norwich. There we can make a search in the Probate Office, and find out for certain just how the facts stand. Then we can come back here and put the case in the hands of my father, who's a lawyer, and who will have a guardian appointed for you, and do everything else that's necessary. See? Now, the question is, Will you go to Norwich with me Monday night?”
“Won't I, though!” was my response.
And then Rip and I just sat there in the shop, and talked, and talked, and talked, planning out my life for the future, and wondering exactly how rich I was going to be. We surmised that my grandmother could not possibly have left less than a hundred thousand dollars, in which event I should come in for a cool fifty thousand. We employed the strongest language at our command to stigmatize my Uncle Peter's rascality in having for so long a time kept me out of my just rights; and we gloated in imagination over his chagrin and his discomfiture when we should compel him to render an account of his stewardship and to disgorge my portion of our inheritance. I declared it as my intention to go to my Uncle Florimond in Paris as soon as the affair was finally settled; and Ripley agreed that that would be the appropriate thing for me to do—“Though, of course,” he added, “I shall feel awfully cut up at our separation. Still, it's undoubtedly the thing for you to do. It's what I would do if I were in your place. And, O, Scottie! Greg, won't old Finkelstein and your other Hebrew friends open their eyes?”
“Won't they, though!” I returned, reveling in fancy over their astonishment and their increased respect for me, after I should have explained to them my sudden and tremendous rise in the world. But in this particular I was destined to disappointment; for when, as soon as Ripley had gone home, I joined Mr. Finkelstein in the parlor, and conveyed to him the joyful information, he, having heard me through without any sign of especial wonder, remarked:—
“Vail, Kraikory, I suppose you vant me to conkraitulate you, hey? Vail, it's a graind ting to be rich, Kraikory, and no mistake about it. And I shust tell you dis, Kraikory: dere ain't nobody in de United States of America vould be glaidder if ainy goot luck haippened to you, as I vould be. I'm awful fond of you, Kraikory, and dere ain't nodings what I vant more as to see you haippy and prosperous. De only trouble is, Kraikory, dot I ain't so sure as dis vould be such awful goot luck, aifter all. For, to tell you de honest troot, Kraikory, I don't like de vay you take it. No, I aictually don't. You're too stuck-up and prout about it, Kraikory; and I hate to see you stuck-up and prout. It ain't nice to be prout, Kraikory; it ain't what you call manly; and I simply hate to see you do ainydings what ain't nice and manly—I'm so fond of you, don't you understand? Den, ainyhow, Kraik-ory, de Bible says dot prite goes before destruction, and a howty spirit before a fall; and dot's a solemn faict, Kraikory; dey do, shust as sure as you're alife. De Bible's shust exaictly right, Kraikory; you can bet ten tousand tollars on it. Why, I myself, I seen hundreds of fellers get stuck-up and prout already; and den de first ting dey knew, dey bust all to pieces like a goot-for-nodings boiler. Yes, siree, if I was as prout as you are, Kraikory, I'd feel afraid.
“No, Kraikory, I don't like de vay you take it, and I really tink if you get dis money what you're talking about, I really tink it'll spoil you, Kraikory; and dot's why I cain't conkraitulate you de vay you vant me to. You ain't been like yourself for a pretty long while now already, Kraikory. I ain't said nodings about it; but I seen it all de same; and Solly seen it, and Heddie, she seen it, and Mr. Flisch seen it, and Henrietta seen it, and we all seen it, and we all felt simply fearful about it. And now I tink it shust needs dis money to spoil you altogedder. I hate to say ainydings to hurt your feelings, Kraikory, but dot's my honest opinion; and me and you, we'd oughter be goot enough friends to talk right out to each udder like fader and son. De faict is, Kraikory, I've loafed you shust exaictly de same as if we was fader and son; and dot's de reason it makes me feel so awful to see you get stuck-up and prout. But you was a goot boy down deep, Kraikory, and I guess you'll turn out all right in de end, if dis here money don't spoil you. You got a little foolishness about you, which is necheral to your age. When I was your age I was a big fool, too.
“Vail, and so, shust as soon as de maitter's settled, you're going to Europe, are you, to live mit your Uncle Florimond in Pairis? Vail, dot's all right, Kraikory, if you like to do it. I ain't got no pusiness to make ainy obshections, dot's sure. All I got to say, Kraikory, is dis: Your Unde Florimond, he may be an awful fine feller, and I guess likely he is; but I don't know as he's aifer done much of ainydings for you; and if I was in your place, I'd feel sorter sorry to stop my education, and leaf de old friends what I was certain of, and go to a new friend what I hadn't naifer tried; dot's all. Vail, if you vant to go, I suppose you'll go; and Solly and me and Henrietta and dot little kirl ofer by Mr. Flisch, vail, we'll have to get along mitout you de best vay we can. I guess dot little Rosie, I guess she'll feel pretty baid about it, Kraikory; but I don't suppose dot'l make much difference to you, to shush by de vay you talk. Poor little ting! She's awful fond of you, Kraikory, and I guess she'll feel pretty lonesome aifter you've gone avay. Oh! vail, I suppose she von't die of it. Dere are plenty udder young fellers in dis vorld, and I don't suppose she'll cry herself to dead for you. All de same, I guess she'll feel pretty baid first off; but dot's your business, and not mine.
“Vail, let me see. To-day's Saturday; and you're going to Nawvich Monday night. Vail, dot's all right. I ain't got nodings to say against dot. I shust give you vun little piece of advice, dough, Kraikory, and dot is dis: If I was in your place, I vouldn't feel too awful sure of dis here money, until I'd aictually got hold of it, for fear I might be disappointed. Dere's a proverp which goes, 'Dere's a great mainy slips between de cup and de lips,' Kraikory; and dot's a solemn faict, which I advice you to remember.”
This sermon of Mr. Finkelstein's made me feel very sore indeed; but I felt sorer still next day, when Rosalind—whom I was calling upon, and to whom I had just communicated the momentous news—when Rosalind, with flushed cheeks and flashing eyes, assailed me thus:—