"Say a hundred dollars."
"A hundred----! I'm mum as a stone image. When do I get it, though?"
"Here's twenty now on account." Rockwell held out a yellow-backed bill, which Margery quickly accepted. "You get the rest when this is all over."
"How do I know I get the rest?"
"Shut up, Marge," said Jennie. "You know Mr. Rockwell."
"We've no time to lose," Rockwell continued, looking at his watch. "It's twenty-five minutes to ten now. Thompson said ten, but he might come a bit sooner. We must get Norman away at once. You understand that you're to let Mr. Merriam go to bed in his stead. When Thompson comes you must admit him. You can pretend to be unwilling to do so, but you must let him in without too much fuss. You're to tell him that Norman's not here and has not been here--that there's a man here who looks tremendously like Norman and that at first you fooled Margery into thinking it was Norman."
While Rockwell was issuing these instructions Jennie's cheeks had grown hot.
"I'm not that kind," she cried. "I've never had any one but George." Margery also glowered.
"I know that, my dear," said Rockwell, mendaciously perhaps but promptly. "But you've got to do what I tell you to-night. You don't care what a fellow like Thompson thinks. He always thinks the worst anyhow. It's to save George. He'll be ruined unless we can fool Thompson completely to-night. It's for George," he repeated. "You'd do a lot for George."
Jennie's colour was subsiding. She had uncrossed her legs and was sitting erect. She looked fixedly at Rockwell.