"Well, Winthrop, I've stuck to my choice," he remarked, the second evening of his being there. The tone indicated the opening of a great budget of thoughts. Winthrop was bending over a parchment-coloured volume, and Rufus pacing up and down the longest stretch of the little room.
"I am glad of it," said Winthrop, without looking up.
"I am not sure that I am."
"What's the matter?"
"I don't see that I gain much by it, and I certainly lose."
"What do you expect to gain?"
"Nothing but money, — and I don't get that."
"It's safe, isn't it?"
"Yes, and so are winter's snows, in their treasury; — and I could as soon get it by asking for it."
"Let us hope it will come with the snows," said Winthrop, his head still bent down over his book.