“And again he might strike it the very first day,” said One Eye.
“Again he might,” said Red Shirt; “but I’d rather take my chances keeping tavern. Look at Schuyler, now. He’ll die a rich man.”
The one who seemed to be Schuyler was well worth looking at. I had never seen so much man packed into so much chair; and it was an exact fit—just enough chair for the man, just enough man for the chair. Schuyler’s boundary from his chin to his toe was nearly, if not exactly, a straight line.
“Die rich?” said One Eye. “He’s a livin’ rich; he’s rich to-day.”
“If any of you gentlemen want to make your fortune keeping a hotel,” said Schuyler, “I’ll sell on easy terms.”
“How much, ’squire?” said Red Shirt.
“He took the East Road, I the West, and neither looked back.”—See page 61.
“Fifteen,” answered Schuyler.
“Fifteen thousand—furniture and all?” said One Eye.