Pasco’s self-conceit was a constant spring of energy in him. Dashed his spirits might be by disaster, but he speedily recovered his buoyancy, owing to this characteristic element in his nature. It is said that the fertility of Manitoba is due to the fact that below the surface the soil is frozen hard in winter, and during the summer the warmth of the sun penetrating ever farther thaws the ice, and thus water incessantly wells up, nourishing and moistening the roots of the corn. There was a perennial body of self-esteem deep in the heart of Pasco Pepperill, and this fed and sustained in vigorous growth a harvest of generosity in dealing with his inferiors, of liberality towards the poor, of display in his mercantile transactions, that imposed on the public and made it suppose that he was prosperous in his many affairs.
The landlord came to the door.
“How do you do, Mr. Pepperill?—glad to see you. You do not often favour me.”
“Well—no. If I come this way I mostly stop at the Golden Sun. You see, you are rather near my home.”
“I hope this, though the first visit, is not the last!”
“I daresay not. What brings me now is an accident. Can you let us have some supper?”
“Certainly. What would you like—cold beef, cold mutton, or chops and potatoes?”
“You have a supply of good things.”
“I am obliged to have. I get plenty of custom now.”
“What! more than of old?”