A fat, sleek, prosperous male, clad in expensive garments, and wearing a
derby hat and too much jewellery, became somehow personified in this
tirade. I was led to picture him a residuary legatee who had never done
a stroke of work in his life, and believed that no one else ever did
except from a sportive perversity. I was made to hear him tell her that
she, Mrs. Lysander John Pettengill, was leading the ideal life on her
country place; and, by Jove! he often thought of doing the same thing
himself--get a nice little spot in this beautiful country, with some
green meadows, and have bands of large handsome cattle strolling about
in the sunlight, so he could forget the world and its strife in the same
idyllic peace she must be finding. Or if he didn't tell her this, then
he was sure to have a worthless son or nephew that her ranch would be
just the place for; and, of course, she would be glad to take him on and
make something of him--that is, so the lady now regrettably put it, as
he had shown he wasn't worth a damn for anything else, why couldn't she
make a cattleman of him?
"Yes, sir; that's what I get from these here visitors that are enchanted
by the view.
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