"Yes, sir," said Chiffield, who, being a fat man, was happily calm; "totally ruined."
"You impudent scoundrel! out of this house!" shrieked Mr. Whedell, rising from his chair, and glaring like a wildcat at his son-in-law.
"Be calm," said that phlegmatic individual. "I respect your age."
"Curse your impudence! what do you mean by my age?" (approaching Chiffield in a threatening manner). "I'll let you know, sir, that I am young enough to kick a swindler like you into the street."
"Pray compose yourself, sir," returned the bland Chiffield. "Your surprise and excitement are natural, and therefore pardonable. But my affairs are, after all, not quite as bad as they might be. I have a sure prospective fortune, if not a present one."
"What do you mean, sir?" asked Mr. Whedell, not quite so savage as before.
"That I have talents, energy, a large business acquaintance," said the cheerful Chiffield.
"Humbug!" roared Mr. Whedell. "What is all that stuff good for, without money?"
"Not much, I admit," was the conciliatory reply. "There fore, sir, to come to the point at once, advance me ten thousand dollars to start in business again, and I will make a fortune in three years. It was the outside speculations of my partners that ruined me. Perhaps you don't know that dry goods are going up, sir? Now's the time to buy."
"This man will drive me mad!" shrieked Mr. Whedell, combing his hair wildly with his hands.