"I am very poor," whined Peter, in his customary phrase, "and I can't pay much."
"Oh yes, Peter," said the other, sarcastically, "I am well aware that you are poor,—wretchedly poor,—and I won't be too hard upon you."
"Thank you—thank you," said Peter, catching at this promise; "I will give you something—a little——"
"How much?" asked Randall, with some curiosity.
"Ten dollars!" said the miser, with the air of a man who named a large sum.
"Ten dollars!" returned Randall, with a laugh of derision. "Ten dollars to secure the peaceable possession of thirty thousand! Old man, you must be mad, or you must think that I am."
"I—I did not mean to offend," said the old man, humbly. "If I double the sum will it satisfy you? I—I will try to raise it, though it will be hard—very hard."
"This is mere trifling, Peter Manson," said his visitor, decidedly. "Twenty dollars! Why I wouldn't have come across the street to get it. No, you will have to elevate your ideas considerably."
"How much do you demand?" said the miser, groaning internally, and fixing his eyes anxiously upon Randall.
"You must not make a fuss when I name the amount."