“And Harry spent $10,000 a year,” she murmured, complainingly.
“Harry was always—er—rather extravagant.”
“Well, I’m glad he enjoyed himself while he lived,” she said, quickly. Then, after a pause: “And, Mr. Colwell, if I should get tired of the bonds, could I always get my money back?”
“You could always find a ready market for them. You might sell them for a little more or for a little less than you paid.”
“I shouldn’t like to sell them,” she said, with a business air, “for less than I paid. What would be the sense?”
“You are right, Mrs. Hunt,” he said, encouragingly. “It wouldn’t be very profitable, would it?”
“Ticky-ticky-ticky-ticky-ticky-ticky-tick!” said the ticker. It was whirring away at a furious rate. Its story is always interesting when it is busy. And Colwell had not looked at the tape in fully five minutes!
“Couldn’t you buy something for me, Mr. Colwell, that when I came to sell it I could get more than it cost me?”
“No man can guarantee that, Mrs. Hunt.”
“I shouldn’t like to lose the little I have,” she said, hastily.