The Magnificient Ambersons - Booth Tarkington [26]
"There's your grandfather now," said Lucy. "Isn't it?"
George's frown was not relaxed. "Yes, it is; and he ought to give that rat-trap away and sell those old horses. They're a disgrace, all shaggy—not even clipped. I suppose he doesn't notice it—people get awful funny when they get old; they seem to lose their self-respect, sort of."
"He seemed a real Brummell to me," she said.
"Oh, he keeps up about what he wears, well enough, but—well, look at that!" He pointed to a statue of Minerva, one of the cast-iron sculptures Major Amberson had set up in opening the Addition years before. Minerva was intact, but a blackish streak descended unpleasantly from her forehead to the point of her straight nose, and a few other streaks were sketched in a repellent dinge upon the folds of her drapery.
"That must be from soot," said Lucy. "There are so many houses around here."
"Anyhow, somebody ought to see that these statues are kept clean. My grandfather owns a good many of these houses, I guess, for renting. Of course, he sold most of the lots—there aren't any vacant ones, and there used to be heaps of 'em when I was a boy. Another thing I don't think he ought to allow a good many of these people bought big lots and they built houses on 'em; then the price of the land kept getting higher, and they'd sell part of their yards and let the people that bought it build houses on it to live in, till they haven't hardly any of 'em got big, open yards any more, and it's getting all too much built up. The way it used to be, it was like a gentleman's country estate, and that's the way my grandfather ought to keep it. He lets these people take too many liberties: they do anything they want to."
"But how could he stop them?" Lucy asked, surely with reason. "If he sold them the land, it's theirs, isn't it?"
George remained serene in the face of this apparently difficult question. "He ought to have all the trades-people boycott the families that sell part of their yards that way. All he'd have to do would be to tell the trades-people they wouldn't get any more orders from the family if they didn't do it."
"From 'the family'? What family?"
"Our family," said George, unperturbed. "The Ambersons."
"I see!" she murmured, and evidently she did see something that he did not, for, as she lifted her muff to her face, he asked:
"What are you laughing at now?"
"Why?"
"You always seem to have some little secret of your own to get happy over!"
"Always!" she exclaimed. "What a big word when we only met last night!"
"That's another case of it," he said, with obvious sincerity. "One of the reasons I don't like you—much!—is you've got that way of seeming quietly superior to everybody else."
"I!" she cried. "I have?"
"Oh, you think you keep it sort of confidential to yourself, but it's plain enough! I don't believe in that kind of thing."
"You don't?"
"No," said George emphatically. "Not with me! I think the world's like this: there's a few people that their birth and position, and so on, puts them at the top, and they ought to treat each other entirely as equals." His voice betrayed a little emotion as he added, "I wouldn't speak like this to everybody."
"You mean you're confiding your deepest creed—or code, whatever it is—to me?"
"Go on, make fun of it, then!" George said bitterly. "You do think you're terribly clever! It makes me tired!"
"Well, as you don't like my seeming 'quietly superior,' after this I'll be noisily superior," she returned cheerfully. "We aim to please!"
"I had a notion before I came for you today that we were going to quarrel," he said.