“What will my wife say, Gainor? We have never been a month apart.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“Wilt thou share in the venture?” He was testing the sincerity of her advice. “And to what extent?”
“Five thousand pounds. You may draw on me from London, and buy powder and muskets,” she added, with a smile.
“Not I. Why dost thou talk such folly?”
“Then Holland blankets and good cloth. I will take them off your hands at a fair profit.”
“I see no objection to that.”
My aunt gave me a queer look, saying, “The poor will need them. I shall sell them cheap.”
It was singular that I caught her meaning, while my father, reflecting on the venture as a whole, did not.
“I will do it,” he said.