“Don’t thank me,” cried the old lady. “I’m not going to give you anything,—far from it. I object to you altogether. What business have you to come courting my niece?”
“Because I love her, ma’am,” returned Van, with unexpected spirit.
“No, you don’t; you want her money, or rather my money. She depends on it; but you’ll both be disappointed, for she won’t have a penny of it,” cried Aunt Kipp, who, in spite of her good resolutions, found it impossible to be amiable all at once.
“I’m glad of it!” burst out Van, indignant at her accusation. “I didn’t want Polly for the money; I always doubted if she got it; and I never wished her to make herself a slave to anybody. I’ve got enough for all, if we’re careful; and when my share of the Van Bahr property comes, we shall live in clover.”
“What’s that? What property are you talking of?” demanded Aunt Kipp, pricking up her ears.
“The great Van Bahr estate, ma’am. There has been a long lawsuit about it, but it’s nearly settled, and there isn’t much doubt that we shall get it. I am the last of our branch, and my share will be a large one.”
“Oh, indeed! I wish you joy,” said Aunt Kipp, with sudden affability; for she adored wealth, like a few other persons in the world. “But suppose you don’t get it, how then?”
“Then I shall try to be contented with my salary of two thousand, and make Polly as happy as I can. Money doesn’t always make people happy or agreeable, I find.” And Van looked at Aunt Kipp in a way that would have made her hair stand erect if she had possessed any. She stared at him a moment, then, obeying one of the odd whims that made an irascible weathercock of her, she said, abruptly,—
“If you had capital should you go into business for yourself, Mr. Lambkin?”
“Yes, ma’am, at once,” replied Van, promptly.