"Oh, shut up. I'm sick of hearing about it."
"At least—'most—everything. I—I—I—didn't say nothing about a little wad o'—o'—bills I had stored away. I—I—" and the old man trembled violently—"I'm so cold."
"Dick, do make a fire," said his wife.
"I won't do no sich fool trick. It's roastin' hot now."
"'Tain't much," went on the trembling old man, "only fif—fif—teen hundred—dollars. I got it here now," and he drew out the roll of greenbacks.
FIFTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS! Twice as much as the whole farm and stock were worth! Dick's eyes fairly popped out, and Caleb was careful to show also the handle of the white revolver.
"Why, father," exclaimed Saryann, "you are ill: Let me go get you some brandy. Dick, make a fire. Father is cold as ice."
"Yes—please—fire—I'm all of—a—tremble—with —cold."
Dick rushed around now and soon the big fire place was filled with blaze and the room unpleasantly warm.
