MIFFLIN [_with jovial reproach_]: Now, now! Before we come to that, Mr.
Gibson, suppose we get at the origin of this interesting product. [_He
waves to the sample piano._] Let's see! I understand it was never your
own creation, Mr. Gibson; that you inherited this factory from your
father.

GIBSON: Oh, no, I didn't.

NORA [_challenging_]: _What!_ [_She checks herself._] I beg your pardon!

GIBSON: The piano factory I inherited from my father was about one third
this size.

MIFFLIN [_genially; always genial_]: Nevertheless, you inherited it. We
know that everything grows with the times, naturally. Let us simply
state that it was a capitalistic family inheritance.

NORA [_under her breath but emphatically_]: Yes!

MIFFLIN: Up to the time of your inheriting it, you, I suppose, had led
the usual life of pleasure of the wealthy young man?

GIBSON: I'd been through school and college and through every department
of the factory. That wasn't hard; it was a pretty run-down factory, Mr.
Mifflin.

MIFFLIN: And then at your father's death the lives and fortunes, souls
and bodies of all these workmen passed into your hands?