Nan sighed, as she thought of these things, and John regarded the
battered thimble on his fingertip with increased benignity of aspect
as he heard the sound.
"When are you going to make your fortune, John, and get out of that
disagreeable hardware concern?" demanded Di, pausing after an exciting
"round," and looking almost as much exhausted as if it had been a
veritable pugilistic encounter.
"I intend to make it by plunging still deeper into 'that disagreeable
hardware concern'; for, next year, if the world keeps rolling, and
John Lord is alive, he will become a partner, and then--and then"----
The color sprang up into the young man's cheek, his eyes looked out
with a sudden shine, and his hand seemed involuntarily to close, as if
he saw and seized some invisible delight.
"What will happen then, John?" asked Nan, with a wondering glance.
"I'll tell you in a year, Nan,--wait till then." And John's strong
hand unclosed, as if the desired good were not to be his yet.
Di looked at him, with a knitting-needle stuck into her hair, saying,
like a sarcastic unicorn,--
"I really thought you had a soul above pots and kettles, but I see you
haven't; and I beg your pardon for the injustice I have done you."
Not a whit disturbed, John smiled, as if at some mighty pleasant fancy
of his own, as he replied,--
"Thank you, Di; and as a further proof of the utter depravity of my
nature, let me tell you that I have the greatest possible respect for
those articles of ironmongery.
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