“Eh, Harry, what a heap of siller!”
“Five hundred and fifty; and this,” said Harry, complacently laying his finger on his pocket-book, “six; and a hundred to the kirk, seven hundred and fifty; and say fifty pounds for a good horse and Lettie’s pony, and somewhere near a hundred for a carriage, and then—whew! there’s nothing left. I must begin to calculate again—a thousand pounds—”
“But, Harry, you said it was only nine hundred,” said Rose.
“Well, so it is—it’s all the same. What’s a hundred here or there?” said Harry the Magnificent. “I must just make my calculations over again—that’s all.”
“But can people encumbered as you are afford to keep a carriage on four hundred and fifty pounds a-year?” asked Martha.
“Oh, not in the town, of course; but the country is quite different. Besides, Allenders will improve to any extent; and I suppose I may double my income very soon. Don’t fear, Martha, we’ll be very careful—oh, don’t be afraid.”
And Harry sincerely believing that no one need be afraid, went on in his joyous calculations—beginning always, not a whit discouraged, when he discovered again and again that he was calculating on a greater sum than he possessed; but it soon became very apparent, even with Harry’s sanguine arithmetic, that it was by no means a difficult thing to spend a thousand pounds, and a slight feeling of discontent that it was not another thousand suddenly crossed the minds of all.
“I see,” said Harry, slowly, “it’ll have to be fifty to the church, Martha. Fifty is as much as I can afford. It would not be just, to myself and to you all, to give more.”
Poor Harry! The magnificence of liberality was easier to give up than the other magnificences on which he had set his heart.