Finch's fortune [antikvár]

1COMING OF AGENicholas and Ernest Whiteoak were having tea together in Ernest's room. He thought he felt one of his colds coming on and he feared to expose himself to the draughts of passage and hall in such weather. He had had tea brought up to him there-fore, and had asked Nick to join him. They sat before the open fire with the tea table between them. Ernest's cat, with paws curled under her breast and eyes narrowed against the blaze, lay close to her master's feet, and Nicholas's Yorkshire terrier, flat on his side, twitching in a dream. The brothers divided their attention between their tea and their pets."He's a bit off colour," observed Nicholas, his eyes on Nip. "He hasn't begged."Ernest regarded the little dog critically. "He doesn't get enough exercise. Why, he scarcely leaves your side. He's getting tubby. That's the worst of terriers. They always get tubby. How old is he?""Seven. Just in his prime. I can't see that he's tubby." Nicholas spoke testily. "It's the way he's lying. He may have a little wind on his stomach.""It's lack of exercise," persisted Ernest. "Now look at Sasha. She's fourteen. She's as elegant as ever, but then she goes off by the hour, even since this last snowfall. Only this morning she brought a mouse from the stables. Tossed it up and played with it too." He dropped his hand, and his white fingers rested for a moment on the cat's tawny head.Nicholas responded without enthusiasm. "Yes. That's the cold-blooded thing about cats. They'd slink off to catch mice or have a disgusting love affair if their master were dying.""Sasha doesn't have disgusting love affairs," answered his brother with heat."What about that last kitten of hers?""There was nothing disgusting about that.""There wasn't! She had it on your eiderdown."Ernest felt himself getting angry and that was bad for his digestion. The recalling of that morning when Sasha, with7