"Step this way a moment, Ellen," he said. She followed him reluctantly
into the room. He put his hand upon her shoulder to lead her to the
window. She shook herself free at once.
"Hands off!" she ordered. "What is it you want?"
He pointed out of the window to the magnificent memorial of his success.
She looked at it disparagingly.
"What's that? Your taxicab?" she asked. "What did you keep him for?
You can get another one at the corner."
Burton gasped.
"Taxicab!" he exclaimed. "Taxicab, indeed! Look at it again. That's a
motor-car--my own motor-car. Do you hear that? Bought and paid for!"
"Well, run away and play with it, then!" she retorted, turning as though
to leave the room. "I don't want you fooling about here. I'm just
getting Alfred's supper." Burton dropped his cigar upon the carpet.
Even when he had picked it up, he stood looking at her with his mouth a
little open.
"You don't seem to understand, Ellen," he said. "Listen. I've come
back home. A share of that motor-car is yours."
"Come back home," Ellen repeated slowly.
"Exactly," he admitted, complacently. "I am afraid this is rather a
shock for you, but good news never kills, you know. We'll motor up to
the band presently and I've asked the Johnsons to supper.
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