"I save you from ruin!" said Mrs. Chiffield, in a hollow voice. "That's a good joke!"
Mr. Whedell grinned a ghastly smile, as if he did not precisely see the point of the jest. "Joke or no joke," said he, "I must look to you for some money to put off the infernal creditors, who have begun to flock into the house. There's the bell. Hang me, if it isn't another one! To come to the point, then, I wish you would loan me, say two hundred dollars. It is a small amount, but will stave them off a week or two."
"Two hundred dollars!" Mrs. Chiffield opened her fine eyes in amazement.
"That's all. Perhaps you have saved up the amount from your pin money? Or, if you have been a little extravagant, and spent it all, why, then, perhaps you can get it from Mr. Chiffield this morning?"
The daughter laughed bitterly again. "I tell you, father," said she, "that this man is the meanest creature that walks OB two legs. He has not spent fifty dollars on both of us, during our absence. As for me, I have never got a cent from him, though I have dropped a thousand hints about new bonnets, dresses, and jewelry."
"Gracious heavens!" cried Mr. Whedell, turning pale "But then," he added, with an effort to laugh, "Mr. Chiffield is a business man, and was an old bachelor. He knows nothing of women's wants. It must be your mission to teach him what they are."
"Pooh!" said the daughter; "I don't believe he has got any money."
"Don't talk so, my child. You put me in a cold sweat."
"Anyhow, I examined his pocket, last night, when he was asleep in the cars, and found only five dollars there."
Mr. Whedell's jaw dropped. "Oh, no! it can't be," said he, at length. "Mr. Chiffield must be a rich man. You remember his fine horses at Saratoga and Newport. You remember how much his society was courted by mammas with disposable daughters. They never patronize poor young men. Their instinct in finding out rich ones is unerring. And furthermore, Mr. Chiffield is a member of a firm twenty years old, who are marked 'A No. 1' on the books of a mercantile agency, that makes it a business to pry into other people's affairs. I paid ten dollars for the information, only a month ago. He must be rich! He must be rich!" Mr. Whedell repeated it twice, as if the repetition put the question of Chiffield's opulence beyond a doubt. "Ha! there goes that dreadful bell again!"