“I suppose not,” sneered my uncle. “But you seem to have money enough to pay for champagne suppers, and better furniture than I can afford to have in my house.”
Buckleton was the villain who had been talking to my uncle! “Better furniture” meant the étagère. But I must not quarrel with my uncle. He had the power to throw me out of my situation in the bank. As my mother’s brother he would not be likely to do that. I was even willing to believe that he was acting for my good, but certainly he was doing so in a very clumsy and ungainly manner. He evidently wished to get me into a tight place, where he could control me, and thus compel me to forego my habits of extravagance.
“Uncle, the champagne supper was a mistake. I did not know there was to be any wine until I saw it. My wife ordered it without my knowledge. I did not suspect she intended to have it, or I should have spoken in season to prevent it.”
“Very well; let that pass,” said he, considerably mollified. “You have fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of furniture in your house. I will sell you all mine for half that sum.”
“Buckleton cheated me into taking twice as much as I wanted.”
“Humph! Did he?”
“He did.”
“Did you pay cash for all these things?”