“You are rich, sir.”
“I am not,” said Mr. Boffin.
The sharpness of the retort was next to telling the Secretary that he lied. But it brought no change of expression into the set face.
“I tell you I am not rich,” repeated Mr. Boffin, “and I won’t have it.”
“You are not rich, sir?” repeated the Secretary, in measured words.
“Well,” returned Mr. Boffin, “if I am, that’s my business. I am not going to spend at this rate, to please you, or anybody. You wouldn’t like it, if it was your money.”
“Even in that impossible case, sir, I—”
“Hold your tongue!” said Mr. Boffin. “You oughtn’t to like it in any case. There! I didn’t mean to be rude, but you put me out so, and after all I’m master. I didn’t intend to tell you to hold your tongue. I beg your pardon. Don’t hold your tongue. Only, don’t contradict. Did you ever come across the life of Mr. Elwes?” referring to his favourite subject at last.
“The miser?”
“Ah, people called him a miser. People are always calling other people something. Did you ever read about him?”
“I think so.”
“He never owned to being rich, and yet he might have bought me twice over. Did you ever hear of Daniel Dancer?”