“I’ll stand right up beside the portrait so’s you’ll be sure to see the resemblance,” Mrs. Brown said, and she went across the room and stood beside the card. “I guess you must have seen the resemblance by now. You see the resemblance, don’t you? You must see it. Everybody else does. A man came by here yesterday selling hot-water heaters and told me I looked enough like Madame de Staël to be her twin. Said we looked like identical twins.” She smoothed her house dress and then went back and sat on the edge of her chair. “It’s being directly descended from Madame de Staël and other distinguished men and women,” she said, “that accounts for the education in my blood. I have very expensive tastes. If I go into a store to buy a pocketbook and there’s a pocketbook for one dollar and a pocketbook for three dollars my eye goes straight to the one that costs three dollars. I’ve preferred expensive things all my life. Oh, I had great expectations! My great-grandfather was an ice merchant. He made a fortune selling ice to the niggers in Honduras. He wasn’t a man to put much stock in banks and he took all his money to California and put it into gold bullion and coming back his ship sank in a storm off Cape Hatteras, gold and all. Of course it’s still there—two and a half million dollars of it— and it’s all mine, but do you think the banks around here would loan me the money to have it raised? Not on your life. There’s over two and one half million dollars of my very own lying there in the sea and there’s not a man or woman in this part of the country with enough gumption or sense of honor to loan me the money to raise my own inheritance. Last week I went up to St. Botolphs to see this rich old Honora Wapshot and she …”
“Is she related to Leander Wapshot?”
“She’s the very same blood. Do you know him?”
“He’s my father,” Helen said.
“Well, for land’s sakes, if Leander Wapshot’s your father what are you doing going from door to door, trying to sell books?”
“He’s disowned me.” Helen began to cry.
“Oh, he has, has he? Well, that’s easier said than done. It’s crossed my mind to disown my own children, but I don’t know how to go about it. You know what my daughter—my very own daughter—did on Thanksgiving Day? We all sat down to the table and then she picked up this turkey, this twelve-pound turkey, and she threw it onto the floor and she jumped up and down on it and she kicked it from here to there and then she took the dish with the cranberry sauce in it and she threw it all over the ceiling— cranberry sauce all over the ceiling—and then she began to cry. Well, I thought of disowning her then and there but it’s easier said than done and if I can’t disown my own daughter how’s it Leander Wapshot can disown his? Well,” she said, getting to her feet and tying on her apron again, “I’ve got to get back to my housework now and I can’t spend any more time talking but my advice to you is to go to that old Leander Wapshot and tell him to buy you a decent pair of shoes. Why, when I saw you walking down the street with the dogs behind you and the holes in your shoes I didn’t feel it would be Christian not to come to your help but now that I know you’re a Wapshot it seems that your own flesh and blood could come to your aid. Good-by.”
