“I did tell you—she’s General Worth’s daughter, Miss Sallie. She writes she is coming up to spend a month at the Springs, with her friend Helen Lowell, of Boston, and wants me to corral all the young men in the community and have them fed and in fine condition for work when they arrive.”
“She evidently intends to have a good time.”
“Yes, and she will.”
“Fortunately my law practice is not rushing me at this season. My total receipts for June last year were two dollars and twenty-five cents. It will hardly go over two-fifty this year.”
“I’ve told her you’re a rising young lawyer.”
“I have plenty of room to rise, Auntie. If you will just keep on letting me board with you, I hope to work my practice up to ten dollars a month in the course of time.”
“Don’t you want to hear something about Miss Sallie?”
“Of course, I was just going to ask you if she’s as homely as that last one you tried to get off on me.”
“I’ve told you she’s a beauty. She made a sensation at her finishing school in Baltimore. It’s funny that she was there the last year you were at the Johns Hopkins University. She’s the belle of Independence, rich, petted, and the only child of old General Worth, who thinks the sun rises and sets in her pretty blue eyes.”
“So she has blue eyes?”