For George had lately
undergone the annoyance of calling upon the Morgans, in the rather
stuffy red velours and gilt parlour of their apartment at the hotel,
one evening when Mr. Frederick Kinney also was a caller, and Mr.
Kinney had not been tactful. In fact, though he adopted a humorous
tone of voice, in expressing his, sympathy for people who, through the
city's poverty in hotels, were obliged to stay at the Amberson, Mr.
Kinney's intention was interpreted by the other visitor as not at all
humorous, but, on the contrary, personal and offensive.
George rose abruptly, his face the colour of wrath. "Good-night, Miss
Morgan. Good-night, Mr. Morgan," he said. "I shall take pleasure in
calling at some other time when a more courteous sort of people may be
present."
"Look here!" the hot-headed Fred burst out. "Don't you try to make me
out a boor, George Minafer! I wasn't hinting anything at you; I
simply forgot all about your grandfather owning this old building.
Don't you try to put me in the light of a boor! I won't--"
But George walked out in the very course of this vehement protest, and
it was necessarily left unfinished.
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