"He don't seem to have a thing to sell except nerve," said Aunt Samantha, "and he sure has got plenty of that."
"I'll fix him!" cried Uncle Ezra.
But he proved to be no match for the smooth sharper in the shape of Larson.
"Did you want to see me?" demanded the crabbed old man.
"I did," answered Larson coolly, as he continued to puff away at his cigar. "I came to offer you a chance to make twenty thousand dollars."
"Twenty thousand dollars!" Uncle Ezra nearly lost his breath, he was so surprised.
"That's what I said! I'm in a position to give you a good chance to make that much money, and perhaps more. If you will give me half an hour of your time—"
"Look here!" interrupted Mr. Larabee, "this ain't no lottery scheme; is it? If it is I want to warn you that I'm a deacon in the church. I wouldn't go into any lottery unless I was sure I could win. I don't believe in gambling. As a deacon of the church I couldn't countenance nothing like that. No gambling!"
"This is not a gamble," Larson assured him. "It's a sure thing. I'll show you how to make twenty thousand dollars!"
"I—I guess I'd better open a window in here, so we can see," said Uncle Ezra, faintly. "That's quite a pile of money to talk about in the dark," and to the horror of Aunt Samantha she saw, a little later, the sun shamelessly streaming in on her carpet that had only been treated to such indignities on the occasions of a funeral, or something like that. The parlor of the Dankville house was like a tomb in this respect.