“Money will prove anything,” said the Governor decidedly.
The Governor struck the right key, for cousin Cæsar was well schooled in treacherous humanity, and noted for seeing the bottom of things; but he did not see the bottom of the Governor's dark designs.
“How much for this case?” said cousin Cæsar.
“Oh! I am liberal—I am liberal,” said the Governor rubbing his hands and continuing, “can't tell exactly, owing to the trouble and cost of the things, as we go along. A million is the stake—well, let me see, this is no child's play. A man that has studied for long years—you can't expect him to be cheap—but as I am in the habit of working for nothing—if you will pay me one thousand dollars in advance, I will undertake the case, and then a few more thousands will round it up—can't say exactly, any more sir, than I am always liberal.”
Cousin Cæsar had some pocket-money, furnished by young Simon, to pay expenses etc., amounting to a little more than one thousand dollars. His mind was bewildered with the number seventy-seven, and he paid over to the Governor one thousand dollars. After Governor Morock had the money safe in his pocket, he commenced a detail of the cost of the suit—among other items, was a large amount for witnesses.
The Governor had the case—it was a big case—and the Governor has determined to make it pay him.
Cousin Caeser reflected, and saw that he must have help, and as he left the office of Governor Morock, said mentally: “One of them d—n figure sevens I saw in my dream, would fall off the pin, and I fear, I have struck the wrong lead.”
In the soft twilight of the evening, when the conductor cried, “all aboard,” cousin Cæsar was seated in the train, on his way to Kentucky, to solicit aid from Cliff Carlo, the oldest son and representative man, of the family descended from Don Carlo, the hero of Shirt-Tail Bend, and Suza Fairfield, the belle of Port William.