“And pray who am I then, sir?”
“Dear old Uncle Paul, who has got out of bed the wrong way this morning!”
“H’m—ha! Well, I suppose you are right, Pickle. I did feel in an awful temper; but I don’t feel quite so bad now that I have found my watch.”
“And pencil-case, uncle.”
“Ah, yes, my boy. That was the gift of a very grateful old patient.”
“And then there are all those gold napoleons, uncle.”
“Bah! Trash! Base counters, good for nothing, like the ugly head that’s upon them,” cried Uncle Paul irascibly.
“But I say, uncle; it might have been worse.”
“But the clothes, my boy! The scoundrels! They’ll go masquerading about in our things, and escaping, I’ll be bound. But stop a minute. What did he say about exchange?”
“Oh, that meant about the money.”