“I could offer him a mortgage on the stock,” said Paul.
“If he has occasion to foreclose, he will be well provided with neckties,” said Mrs. Hoffman, smiling.
“None of which he could wear. I'll tell you what, mother, I should like to pick up a pocketbook in the street, containing, say, twenty or twenty-five dollars.”
“That would be very convenient,” said his mother; “but I think it will hardly do to depend on such good luck happening to you. By the way,” she said, suddenly, “perhaps I can help you, after all. Don't you remember that gold ring I picked up in Central Park two years ago?”
“The one you advertised?”
“Yes. I advertised, or, rather, your father did; but we never found an owner for it.”
“I remember it now, mother. Have you got the ring still?”
“I will get it.”
Mrs. Hoffman went to her trunk, and, opening it, produced the ring referred to. It was a gold ring with a single stone of considerable size.
“I don't know how much it is worth,” said Mrs. Hoffman; “but if the ring is a diamond, as I think it is, it must be worth as much as twenty dollars.”