Butts. Which, of course, you can’t pay; so my next business is with your father.
Harry. Not just yet. Where is the note?
Butts. Here it is; seventy-five dollars,—a large sum for a son of Dr. Harlem to lose by gambling.
Harry. Sh!—Don’t speak so loud.
Butts. Here it is; seventy-five dollars.
Harry. And here is a check for the amount.
Butts. A check!
Harry. My father’s check: it’s good, I believe.
Butts. Good as gold. Here’s your note. (Aside.) There’s another job slipped through my hands.
Harry. So you see, old Butts, it isn’t necessary to see my father. There’s your money. Good-day!