“And if I am,” plaintively, “it is all very well for you, Arthur, who are away six days out of seven. But I’m here and he’s here. And I have to listen to him. And if this money is lost——”
“But it cannot be lost, I tell you!”
“Well, if it is lost, we shall both be beggars! Oh, dear, dear, I’m sure if your father told me once he told me a hundred times——”
“Damn!” Arthur cried, fairly losing his temper at last. “The truth is, mother, that my father knew nothing about money.”
At that, however, Mrs. Bourdillon began to cry and Arthur found himself obliged to drop the matter for the time. He saw, too, that he was on the wrong tack, and a few days later, under pressure of necessity, he tried another. He humbled himself, he wheedled, he cajoled; and when he had by this means got on the right side of his mother he spoke of Ovington’s success.
“In a few years he will be worth a quarter of a million,” he said.
The figure flustered her. “Why, that’s——”
“A quarter of a million,” he repeated impressively. “And that’s why I consider this the chance of my life, mother. It is such an opportunity as I shall never have again. It is within my reach now, and surely, surely,” his voice shook with the fervor of his pleading, “you will not be the one to dash it from my lips?” He laid his hand upon her wrist. “And ruin your son’s life, mother?”
She was shaken. “You know, if I thought it was for your good!”
“It is! It is, mother!”