Mr. Van B. gloried in being what he called a self-made man.
He was proud of his nasal twang and his want of grammar, and all
amenities and decencies of speech. He regarded them as inseparable
from his success. He even affected them in the company of those who were
peculiarly elegant, and was secretly suspicious of the mercantile paper
of all men who were unusually neat in their appearance, and who spoke
their native language correctly. The partner of his bosom was the
constant audience of his self-glorification.
A little while before, her lord had returned one day to dinner, and said,
with a tone of triumph,
"Well, ma, Gerald Bennet & Co. have busted up--smashed all to pieces.
Always knew they would. I sez to you, ma, a hundred times--don't you
remember?--Now, ma, sez I, 'tain't no use. He's been to college, and he
talks grammar, and all that; but what's the use? What's the use of
talkin' grammar? Don't help nothin'. A man feels kind o' stuck up when
he's been to college. But, ma, sez I, gi' me a self-made man--a man what
knows werry well that twice two's four. A self-made man ain't no time for
grammar, sez I. If a man expects to get on in this world he mustn't be
too fine. This is the second time Bennet's busted. Better have no grammar
and more goods, sez I. You remember--hey, ma?"
When, a little while afterward, Mr. Bennet applied for a situation as
book-keeper in the bank of which Mr.
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