"The very thing. You've heard him. And saying our fortunes were made.
Took me out to the Ho'burm Restaurant, George,--dinner, and we had
champagne, stuff that blows up the back of your nose and makes you go
SO, and he said at last he'd got things worthy of me--and we moved here
next day. It's a swell house, George. Three pounds a week for the rooms.
And he says the Business'll stand it."
She looked at me doubtfully.
"Either do that or smash," I said profoundly.
We discussed the question for a moment mutely with our eyes. My aunt
slapped the pile of books from Mudie's.
"I've been having such a Go of reading, George. You never did!"
"What do you think of the business?" I asked.
"Well, they've let him have money," she said, and thought and raised her
eyebrows.
"It's been a time," she went on. "The flapping about! Me sitting doing
nothing and him on the go like a rocket. He's done wonders. But he wants
you, George--he wants you. Sometimes he's full of hope--talks of when
we're going to have a carriage and be in society--makes it seem so
natural and topsy-turvy, I hardly know whether my old heels aren't up
here listening to him, and my old head on the floor.
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