"I've got some money in the bank," said Jonathan, "but I'd like to put in more. I never thought you'd have more money than I."
"You used to tell me I ought to go to the poor-house," said Frank, smiling.
"That's because you was livin' on dad, you know," explained Jonathan. "It wasn't fair to me, because he wouldn't have so much to leave me."
In the country Frank had not found much satisfaction in the company of his cousin, who inherited the combined meanness of both parents, and appeared to grudge poor Frank every mouthful he ate; but in the sunshine of his present prosperity he was disposed to forgive and forget.
Frank led the way to a restaurant not far away, where he allowed his cousin to order an ample dinner, which he did without scruple, since he was not to pay for it.
"It costs a sight to live in the city," he said, as he looked over the bill of fare.
"It costs something in the country, too, Jonathan."
"I wish you'd come and board with dad. He'd take you for five dollars a week, and it will cost you more in New York."
"Yes, it will cost me more here."
"Then you'll come, won't you? You'll be company for me."