supported a mother and sister and infirm father upon his five hundred
dollars a year.

"Eyes giving out in my service, Thomas Tray! I am ashamed of myself."

And Lawrence Newt hired the adjoining office, knocked down all the walls,
and introduced so much daylight that it shone not only into the eyes of
young Venables, but into those of his mother and sister and infirm
father.

It was scratch, scratch, scratch, all day long in the clerks' office.
Messengers were coming and going. Samples were brought in. Draymen came
for orders. Apple-women and pie-men dropped in about noon, and there were
plenty of cheap apples and cheap jokes when the peddlers were young
and pretty. Customers came and brother merchants, who went into Mr.
Lawrence Newt's room. They talked China news, and South American news,
and Mediterranean news. Their conversation was full of the names of
places of which poems and histories have been written. The merchants
joked complacent jokes. They gossiped a little when business had been
discussed. So young Whitloe was really to marry Magot's daughter, and the
Doolittle money would go to the Magots after all! And old Jacob Van
Boozenberg had actually left off knee-breeches and white cravats, and
none of his directors knew him when he came into the Bank in modern
costume. And there was no doubt that Mrs. Dagon wore cotton lace at
the Orrys', for Winslow's wife said she saw it with her own eyes.

Mr. Lawrence Newt's talk ceased with that about business. When the
scandal set in, his mind seemed to set out. He stirred the fire if
it were winter. He stepped into the outer office. He had a word for
Venables. Had Miss Venables seen the new novel by Mr. Bulwer? It is