Fer. Uncle?
Mr. W. (taking one). Thanks, Ferdinand; yes, I—(Mrs. Watmuff's voice heard without: "What ho! there, Emily! Come hither, girl." Mr. Watmuff drops his cigar.) My dear Ferdinand, I forgot your aunt, She does not like the smell of smoke. In fact, if you don't mind, I think we had better not smoke at present.
Fer. Certainly not. My aunt, is, after all, one of the family, and by another member of it family prejudices ought to be observed.
Mr. W. (relieved). What a good fellow you are, Ferdinand! You deserve a fortune. Now tell us how you have made it.
Walter. You have made me very curious, sir; for a fortune is just the thing which I want to make.
Fer. My dear sir, it is merely a question of time and tact, and the greater the tact the less need for time. Mine is a pure case of tact.
Walter. I trust the fortune is intact.
Fer. Well, no, it isn't; because it is what you may call in futuro. It's got to be made yet; but in more ways than one it's a dead certainty.
Mr. W. (who during this conversation keeps on pinching his cigar, smelling it, and otherwise indicating how he would like to smoke it). It isn't anything to do with mausoleums, is it?
Fer. Mausoleums? No. What put that into your head?