“Yes; but just now, my dear Sylvester, let us attend to business. I want to show you those investments.”
“Oh, certainly; trot 'em out,” said his brother, plucking up a simulation of interest as he took a seat at the table.
From a drawer of his desk Gabriel brought out a bundle of prospectuses and laid them before Uncle Sylvester.
A languid smile of recognition lit up the latter's face. “Ah! yes,” he said, glancing at them. “The old lot: 'Carmelita,' 'Santa Maria,' and 'Preciosa!' Just as I imagined—and yet who'd have thought of seeing them HERE! A good deal rouged and powdered, Miss Carmelita, since I first knew you! Considerably bolstered up by miraculous testimony to your powers, my dear Santa Maria, since the day I found you out, to my cost! And you too, Preciosa!—a precious lot of money I dropped on you in the old days!”
“You are joking,” said Gabriel, with an uneasy smile. “You don't mean to imply that this stock is old and worthless?”
“There isn't a capital in America or Europe where for the last five years it hasn't been floated with a new character each time. My dear Gabriel, that stock isn't worth the paper it is printed on.”
“But it is impossible that an experienced financier like Gunn could be deceived!”
“I'm sorry to hear THAT.”
“Come, Sylvester! confess you've taken a prejudice against Gunn from your sudden dislike of his son! And what have you against him?”
“I couldn't say exactly,” said Uncle Sylvester reflectively. “It may be his eyes, or only his cravat! But,” rising cheerfully and placing his hand lightly on his brother's shoulder, “don't YOU worry yourself about that stock, old man; I'LL see that somebody else has the worry and you the cash. And as to the land and—Kitty—well, you hold on to them both until you find out which the young man is really after.”