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I can give you a home, education, and a fine position
when you are old enough to hold it; but I _can't give you money. No one
ever gave me any. I always had to work for mine. From now on you are going
to live with me, so if you have money you'll have to go to work and earn
it_."
Both boys looked aghast at him. "Ain't we rich any more?"
"No," said Mr. Minturn. "Merely comfortable!"
James leaned back in his chair, twisting his body in its smooth linen
covering. He looked intently at the room, table and people surrounding it.
He glanced from the window at the wide green lawn, the big trees, and for
an instant seemed to be listening to the birds singing there. He laid down
his fork, turning to his brother. Then he exploded the bomb that shattered
the family.
"Oh damn being rich!" he cried. "I like being _comfortable_ a _lot_
better! Malcolm, being rich has put us about ten miles behind where we
ought to be. We're baby-girl softies! We wouldn't a-faced the guns and
_not_ told where the soldiers were, _we'd_ a-bellered for cake.


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