“Oh! so things are sometimes wanted in a hurry at a Government office?” asked Prigson. “No, thank you—take one of my cigars—real Havannah, fifteen cents—delicious—just try one.”
“Oh, uncle, it’s positively sinful!” said Leida, who had nearly forgotten etiquette so far as to hand him a light, which at a ceremonial dinner would have been highly unfitting.
“Sinful is it?... How old are you now, Leida?”
“Eighteen next birthday, uncle.”
“Good-bye, then—till later—no, don’t apologise. But don’t go to sleep, Van Arlen,” Prigson shouted jocularly after his host, and then added, turning to Leida, “A happy time of life, Leida, I wish it were mine still;—but when I was that age, I didn’t think fifteen cents too much to pay for anything I liked.”
“How do you mean, uncle?”
“Just what I say, my dear girl. What is life, after all? isn’t it always seeking for what you like, whether you understand by that the smoking of a good Havannah, or the consciousness of having done a good action? Enjoyment means just what people like—and the older they are, the more they want of it. It’s unjust of old people to say that it’s the young ones that always want to enjoy themselves—the old ones are just as set on it, but they get their enjoyment out of other things. Well, any man who can get himself one enjoyment for fifteen cents is certainly not cheated out of his money.”
“But, uncle, must one always have money to enjoy one’s self?” asked Leida, naïvely, but very much à contre cœur—for her whole life was in evidence to prove that, as a rule, one must.
“Certainly not, my very charming Leida,” said Prigson, rising, and added, as he embraced his niece, “That’s a treat for nothing, do you see?”
“Not for me, uncle,” said Leida, laughing mischievously, as she ran out of the room.