"The Widow Weatherwax been administering spiritual balm?" he asked.
"I could wring her neck," Shelby averred.
"Her will again?"
"Of course."
"You'll have it as long as you practise law. I did. It goes with the office. Remunerative as ever?"
"Talk about 'benefit of clergy,'" exploded the younger man; "that mediaeval bonanza isn't to be mentioned in the same week with the ministerial half-rates, donations, and hold-ups we moderns put up with. This pulpit pounder's shrew pays me no more than she pays the doctor, the grocer, the butcher, and the rest. What a ukase I could issue if I were Czar of these United States."
"Cousin Phoebe's 'sofy,' beloved Nephew Jason's unsalable dishes, and
Brother Henry's pickle-caster still extant?"
"Yes, yes," groaned Shelby.
"And little Ann Eliza's sheets and pillow-slips, I dare say. It's astonishing how they endure."
"It's astonishing how I endure."