“Dey will not take de scrip at eighty-two, and I tink dey are right.”
“Faix! I don't doubt but that they are!” chimed in Peter.
“Dey are right, if all be true we hear of de security. It is de mines of de State dat are hypotheked,—how you call it,—what you say, 'hypotheked'?”
Dalton was completely puzzled now, and could only scratch his ear,—his invariable symptom of utter discomfiture.
“Tis no matter,” cried Abel, with a grating, harsh laugh. “Dey promise, and no pay; and dat is very bad—ha! ha! ha!”
Now Dalton joined in the laugh, but with as ill a grace as needs be.
“Dey promise, and dey no pay, Herr von Dalton!” repeated the Jew, with another laugh, as though he could not tear himself away from so excellent a jest. “Dey borrow, dat dey may make explorations—how you call dem—wit oder men's money. If dey de win, well! if dey lose—bah! dey are bankrupt!”
Now, all these allusions were of the most provoking character to poor Dalton, who could not help feeling a very different sympathy for the Mongolians from that expressed by Abel Kraus. “Who knows what difficulties they are in?—maybe they'd pay it if they could,” muttered he, as he slapped his boot with his cane, and fell into a musing fit.
“Dey shall not have one kreutzer of my moneys; I can tell dem dat!” said Kraus, as he buttoned up the keys of his strong-box, as though suiting the action to his words.
“Don't put up the keys so soon, Abel!” said Dalton, with an effort at a laugh. “I want to see the inside of that little iron trunk there.”