Henry Porter had a fine suite of rooms in the Back Bay District of Boston. Ben spent the night with him.
"You've got a nice home," said our hero.
"Yes," said the bookkeeper. "My rooms alone cost me fifteen dollars a week."
"Without board?" ejaculated Ben.
"Yes," said the young man, smiling.
"Why, that is almost eight hundred dollars a year."
"Quite correct. I see you think me extravagant."
"I was wondering how you could afford it."
"Your surprise is natural. If I only depended on my salary, I certainly should not hire such expensive apartments. But a good aunt left me twenty thousand dollars, two years since, and this being well invested yields me about fourteen hundred dollars a year."
"I wonder you don't go into business."