I can, at this distant day, recall
Scene 1st, Act 1st, of the drama that continued while we were crossing
the ocean, with the slight interruption of a few days, produced by
sea-sickness.
"Wallace," said Sarah, "did you say, yesterday, that John Viner had
refused to lend his daughter's husband twenty thousand dollars, to get
him out of his difficulties, and that he failed in consequence?"
"To be sure. It was the common talk through Wall Street yesterday, and
everybody believes it"--there was no more truth in the story, than in
one of the forty reports that have killed General Jackson so often, in
the last twenty years. "Yes, no one doubts it--but all the Viners are
just so! All of us, in our part of the world, know what to think of
the Viners."
"Yes, I suppose so," drawled Jane. "I've heard it said this John
Viner's father ran all the way from the Commons in Boston, to the foot
of State Street, to get rid of a dun against this very son, who had
his own misfortunes when he was young."
"The story is quite likely true in part," rejoined Wallace, "though it
can't be _quite_ accurate, as the old gentleman had but one leg,
and _running_ was altogether out of the question with _him_.
It was probably old Tim Viner, who ran like a deer when a young man,
as I've heard people say.
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