“And I don’t believe it,” cried the other. “You found it yourself, and where this came from more may be.”
My father sprung to his feet.
“Get out of my house!” he shouted, “and take your ‘may be’s’ to the foul fiend!”
Dr. Crackenthorpe placed his pipe and the coin very gently on the table and walked stiffly to the door. He had almost reached it when my father’s voice, quite changed and soft, stopped him.
“Don’t take offense, man. Come and talk it over.”
Dr. Crackenthorpe retraced his steps, resumed his chair, and sat staring stonily at my father.
“It’s true,” said the latter, dropping his eyes, “every word. It’s true, sir, I tell you.”
The doctor never spoke, and my father stole an anxious glance up at him.
“Well,” he said, with an effort; “anyhow, it’s a small matter to separate cronies. I don’t know the value of these gimcracks, but as you take pleasure in collecting ’em, I’ll—I’ll—come now, I’ll make you a present of it.”
The doctor became human once more, and for a second time clutched the coin radiantly. My father heaved a profound sigh, but he never moved.