“Mr. Leech—Squire Leech, I think you call him—was an old schoolmate of mine. We went to the Brandon Academy together. I suppose he is rich, eh?”
“He is the richest man in Wrayburn.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said the other, in a tone of satisfaction. “What do you think he is worth?”
“Some say a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Very good!” commented Andrew Temple, for this was his name in the hotel register—“for the country, I mean. In the city that wouldn't make a rich man.”
“Wouldn't it?” asked Herbert, who had supposed a man worth a hundred thousand dollars rich anywhere.
“No, to be sure not. It costs a great deal more to live. Why, I myself am worth something like that; but in New York nobody regards me as rich.”
“I should feel rich with ten thousand,” said Herbert.
“That would about pay my expenses for a year.”
“Squire Leech doesn't spend anywhere near that. I don't believe it costs him two thousand dollars a year.”