They'd come
snivelling round, pretending they were anxious about his health;
while I wanted his money, and I told him so."
The valiant lady turned to the decanter. "Have some Scotch?" she
asked, and poured some for herself, and then went on with her story.
"When I first came to New York," she said, "the rich people's houses
were all alike--all dreary brownstone fronts, sandwiched in on one
or two city lots. I vowed that I would have a house with some room
all around it--and that was the beginning of those palaces that all
New York walks by and stares at. You can hardly believe it
now--those houses were a scandal! But the sensation tickled the old
man. I remember one day we walked up the Avenue to see how they were
coming on; and he pointed with his big stick to the second floor,
and asked, 'What's that?' I answered, 'It's a safe I'm building into
the house.' (That was a new thing, too, in those days.)--'I'm going
to keep my money in that,' I said. 'Bah!' he growled, 'when you're
done with this house, you won't have any money left.
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