"Whose money?—What money?" exclaimed Uncle Billy Hoonover, hastening up at that moment in time to catch the last words.
Doctor Kale promptly growled something about an engagement, and departed with the same haste which marked his approach.
The paper by the wall was lowered once more, revealing a hawk nose, bushy brows and sharp eyes.
"I told you, gentlemen, Mr. Hoonover would arrive!" the thin voice of Colonel Whitley declared. "Good morning, Mr. Hoonover!"
"What's that sour old coon been tellin' you?" demanded Uncle Billy, bearing down upon old Tim Mellowby, who had inadvertently occupied his chair, "Git up! Don't you know that's my seat?"
He made a half threatening movement with his staff, but old Tim slid off his perch good-naturedly and sought the ground instead, no more chairs being available.
Judge Colver thereupon essayed, in his longwinded, heavy way, to impart to the new arrival the story they had just heard. Uncle Billy listened with becoming patience for one of his excitable temperament.
"Well, 'pon my soul!" he ejaculated, when the recital was done. "Things happen nowadays as queer as Jonah an' the whale! Arthur—an' who'd 'a' thought?—two thousand dollars! He's a stiff old codger, but nobody c'n say anything ag'in 'im! He's got a right to live by hisself an' not neighbour any."
"Is Dink up yit?" asked a very sober looking, lank individual, who up to this moment had remained silent. He was the jailer. The question, simple as it was, proved an unlucky one, for the ire of Uncle Billy arose at once. He began to thump the earth with his staff and comb his whiskers with his fingers.
"Ain't I late this mornin'?" he demanded, instead of making direct reply to the question. "Oughtn't I 'a' been here a half-n-hour ago?"