"Central American," responded the clerk, with brevity, and resumed his whistling of
"My name is Jake Keyser, I was born in Spring Garden;
To make me a preacher my father did try."
"Central American what?" pursued the inquirer.
"Rubber!" said the clerk, with a scorn so deep and far beyond expression that the combined pride of the Dolphs and the Des Anges wilted into silence for the moment. As they went on toward the rear office, while the clerk gayly whistled the notes of
"It's no use a-blowing, for I am a hard 'un—
I'm bound to be a butcher, by heavens, or die!"
Eustace recovered sufficiently to demand of his father:
"I say, sir, shall I have to handle that damned stuff?"
"Hush!" said his senior; "here's Mr. Van Riper."
Mr. Van Riper came to the office door to welcome them, with his thin face set in the form of a smile.
"Ah!" he said, "here's the young man, is he? Fine big fellow, Dolph. Well, sir, so you are going to embrace a mercantile career, are you? That's what they call it in these fine days, Dolph."