The Magnificent Ambersons - Booth Tarkington (top novels of all time TXT) 📗

a home for you⁠—I know she’d want me to do what I tried to do!” Fanny’s tears were bitter now, and her voice, hoarse and wet, was tragically sincere. “I tried⁠—I tried to be practical⁠—to look after your interests⁠—to make things as nice for you as I could⁠—I walked my heels down looking for a place for us to live⁠—I walked and walked over this town⁠—I didn’t ride one block on a streetcar⁠—I wouldn’t use five cents no matter how tired I⁠—Oh!” She sobbed uncontrollably. “Oh! and now⁠—you don’t want⁠—you want⁠—you want to leave me in the lurch! You⁠—”

George stopped walking. “In God’s name, Aunt Fanny,” he said, “quit spreading out your handkerchief and drying it and then getting it all wet again! I mean stop crying! Do! And for heaven’s sake, get up. Don’t sit there with your back against the boiler and⁠—”

“It’s not hot,” Fanny sniffled. “It’s cold; the plumbers disconnected it. I wouldn’t mind if they hadn’t. I wouldn’t mind if it burned me, George.”

“Oh, my Lord!” He went to her, and lifted her. “For God’s sake, get up! Come, let’s take the coffee into the other room, and see what’s to be done.”

He got her to her feet; she leaned upon him, already somewhat comforted, and, with his arm about her, he conducted her to the dining room and seated her in one of the two kitchen chairs which had been placed at the rough table. “There!” he said, “get over it!” Then he brought the coffeepot, some lumps of sugar in a tin pan, and, finding that all the coffee-cups were broken, set water glasses upon the table, and poured some of the pale coffee into them. By this time Fanny’s spirits had revived appreciably: she looked up with a plaintive eagerness. “I had bought all my fall clothes, George,” she said; “and I paid every bill I owed. I don’t owe a cent for clothes, George.”

“That’s good,” he said wanly, and he had a moment of physical dizziness that decided him to sit down quickly. For an instant it seemed to him that he was not Fanny’s nephew, but married to her. He passed his pale hand over his paler forehead. “Well, let’s see where we stand,” he said feebly. “Let’s see if we can afford this place you’ve selected.”

Fanny continued to brighten. “I’m sure it’s the most practical plan we could possibly have worked out, George⁠—and it is a comfort to be among nice people. I think we’ll both enjoy it, because the truth is we’ve been keeping too much to ourselves for a long while. It isn’t good for people.”

“I was thinking about the money, Aunt Fanny. You see⁠—”

“I’m sure we can manage it,” she interrupted quickly. “There really isn’t a cheaper place in town that we could actually live in and be⁠—” Here she interrupted herself. “Oh! There’s one great economy I forgot to tell you, and it’s especially an economy for you, because you’re always too generous about such things: they don’t allow any tipping. They have signs that prohibit it.”

“That’s good,” he said grimly. “But the rent is thirty-six dollars a month; the dinner is twenty-two and a half for each of us, and we’ve got to have some provision for other food. We won’t need any clothes for a year, perhaps⁠—”

“Oh, longer!” she exclaimed. “So you see⁠—”

“I see that forty-five and thirty-six make eighty-one,” he said. “At the lowest, we need a hundred dollars a month⁠—and I’m going to make thirty-two.”

“I thought of that, George,” she said confidently, “and I’m sure it will be all right. You’ll be earning a great deal more than that very soon.”

“I don’t see any prospect of it⁠—not till I’m admitted to the bar, and that will be two years at the earliest.”

Fanny’s confidence was not shaken. “I know you’ll be getting on faster than⁠—”

“Faster?” George echoed gravely. “We’ve got to have more than that to start with.”

“Well, there’s the six hundred dollars from the sale. Six hundred and twelve dollars it was.”

“It isn’t six hundred and twelve now,” said George. “It’s about one hundred and sixty.”

Fanny showed a momentary dismay. “Why, how⁠—”

“I lent Uncle George two hundred; I gave fifty apiece to old Sam and those two other old darkies that worked for grandfather so long, and ten to each of the servants here⁠—”

“And you gave me thirty-six,” she said thoughtfully, “for the first month’s rent, in advance.”

“Did I? I’d forgotten. Well, with about a hundred and sixty in bank and our expenses a hundred a month, it doesn’t seem as if this new place⁠—”

“Still,” she interrupted, “we have paid the first month’s rent in advance, and it does seem to be the most practical⁠—”

George rose. “See here, Aunt Fanny,” he said decisively. “You stay here and look after the moving. Old Frank doesn’t expect me until afternoon, this first day, but I’ll go and see him now.”

… It was early, and old Frank, just established at his big, flat-topped desk, was surprised when his prospective assistant and pupil walked in. He was pleased, as well as surprised, however, and rose, offering a cordial old hand. “The real flare!” he said. “The real flare for the law. That’s right! Couldn’t wait till afternoon to begin! I’m delighted that you⁠—”

“I wanted to say⁠—” George began, but his patron cut him off.

“Wait just a minute, my boy. I’ve prepared a little speech of welcome, and even though you’re five hours ahead of time, I mean to deliver it. First of all, your grandfather was my old war-comrade and my best client; for years I prospered through my connection with his business, and his grandson is welcome in my office and to my best efforts in his behalf. But I want to confess, Georgie, that during your earlier youth I may have had some slight feeling of⁠—well, prejudice, not altogether in your favour; but whatever slight feeling it was, it began to vanish on that afternoon, a good while ago, when you stood up to