The Lincolnshire world was much divided in opinion concerning these young men; and many bets were laid relating to the legacy. People judged according to their own characters; the enterprising declared for Marvel, the prudent for Wright, the timid for Goodenough.
The nephews had scarcely been in possession of their farms a week when, one evening, as they were all supping together at Wright’s house, Marvel suddenly turned to Goodenough, and exclaimed, “When do you begin your improvements, cousin Goodenough?”
“Never, cousin Marvel.”
“Then you’ll never touch the ten thousand, my boy. What! will you do nothing to your marsh? Nothing to your common? Nothing to your plantations? Do not you mean ever to make any improvements?”
“I mean not to make any improvements.”
“Well, you’ll let me make some for you.”
“Not I.”
“No! Won’t you let me cut down some of those trees for you, that are spoiling one another in your wood?”
“Not a tree shall be cut down. Not a stick shall be stirred. Not a change shall be made, I say.”
“Not a change for the better, cousin Goodenough?” said Wright.