"Just some little things I wanted before the fairy gold melts away," he said, laughing but disconcerted. He had begun to entertain great confidence in Mr. Dalton, but bruiser though he was, he could not appreciate the lawyer's faculty for putting people down.
Mr. Dalton took from his pocket a great sheaf of letters, ready stamped for the mail.
"And I had better post these while I think of it;" he began to sift them apart, and one by one slipped them into a slit in the counter where a box lurked for their reception.
"The first expresses filial piety, and endows a bed in a hospital in his mother's name. The second orders a monument to the memory of his parents."
Mr. Dalton looked around with a triumphant eye, evidently bent on "rubbing it in."
"Then comes the discharge of just debts. James Tunstan."
"That's Wick-Zoo," said Lloyd, suddenly forgetful of the public display of his affairs. He looked with a laugh of extreme relish at Frank, who cried hilariously, "Oh, hi! the wild man!"
"And John Haxon."
"Captain Ollory," Lloyd interpreted, still smiling, half regretfully; the street fair seemed now some tender reminiscence of many a year agone.
"I can't persuade my young friend to sever his connection with the greatest show on earth," Mr. Dalton laid the letters on one knee and glanced around the circle with an expression of disapproval and exasperation. "That is, he doesn't propose to manage it personally or to perform, but he still remains a partner, and intends to finance it. With all its faults, he loves it still!—and Haxon succeeds to the managerial—er—er—er—ermine."