“I have rather more than that,” said Harry, in a reserved tone.
Somehow, he was suspicious of the plausible stranger.
“I will pay you a higher price than most houses, besides saving you all the trouble,” said the broker, insinuatingly, as he drew out a capacious wallet, and, opening it, exhibited a pile of bills.
The farmer immediately drew out his coupon.
“Let me see,” said the broker; “thirty dollars, gold at the present premium comes to thirty-six dollars.”
“Thirty-six dollars!” repeated the farmer, complacently. “Sarah’ll feel rich when she gets that money.”
“Here’s your money,” said the broker, producing three ten-dollar bills, a five and a one. “The bills are new, you perceive.”
The farmer put away the bills in his old wallet, and the stranger slipped the coupon carelessly into his vest pocket.
“Now, my young friend, I am ready to attend to your matter,” he said, turning to Harry.
“I won’t trouble you,” said Harry, coldly; “I prefer to dispose of the coupons in the city.”