“Tear and ages!” cried Dalton, with a stroke of his fist upon the table that made every wooden bowl of gold and silver coin jump and ring again,—“tear and ages! take care what you say! By the soul in my body, if you say a syllable against the old country, I 'll smash every stick in the place, and your own bones, besides! Ye miserable ould heathen! that has n't a thought above sweating a guinea,—how dare you do it?”
“Why do you come into my counting-house to insult me, saar? Why you come where no one ask you?”
“Is it waiting for an invitation I'd be, Abel? Is it expecting a card with ould Kraus's compliments?” said Dalton, laughing. “Sure, isn't the place open like the fish-market, or the ball-room, or the chapel, or any place of diversion? There, now; keep your temper, old boy. I tell ye, there's luck before ye! What d'ye think of that?” And, as he spoke, he drew forth one of the bills, and handed it across the counter; and then, after gloating, as it were, over the changed expression of the Jew's features, he handed a second, and a third.
“These are good papers, Herr von Dalton; no better! The exchange, too, is in your favor; we are giving—let me see—ten and three-eighths 'Convenzions-Gelt'.”
“To the devil I fling your three-eighths!” cried Dalton. “I never forgot the old song at school that says, 'Fractions drives me mad.'”
“Ah, always droll,——always merry!” cackled out Abel. “How will you have these moneys?”
“In a bag,——a good strong canvas-bag!”
“Yes, to be sure, in a bag; but I was asking how you 'd have them. I mean, in what coin,—in what for 'Gelt.'”
“Oh, that's it!” cried Dalton. “Well, give me a little of everything. Let me have 'Louis' to spend, and 'Gros-chen' to give the beggars. Bank-notes, too, I like; one feels no regretting parting with the dirty paper that neither jingles nor shines: and a few crown pieces, Abel; the ring of them on a table is like a brass band!”
“So you shall,—so you shall, Herr von Dalton. Ha, ha, ha! you are the only man ever make me laugh!”