“Yes, gentlemen, she was, and truly I am awfully cut up over the matter. I liked the girl very much, and besides, she had great talent.”
“She died of what ailment?” queried the lawyer.
“That’s the puzzling thing,” said the broker. “Some dreadful, mysterious ailment, the germs of which floated up from the steerage. The confounded steamer should have been quarantined. The first thing we know New York will be scourged.”
“A few thousand useless cattle will be killed off,” said Doane. “A good thing.”
“It might lay its heavy hand on you,” said Salmon.
“No,” replied Doane, “I am too wicked to die. Satan would refuse me entrance to hell for fear I’d rival him for his kingdom.”
“Anyhow,” said Wayland, “I intend to wear crape for a year.”
“Bah,” said Doane, “the next pretty face will cure you. You’ll get no sympathy from us.”
“See here, Doane. I bought that bottle of wine as a bribe for sympathy, and I shall engage Salmon here to prosecute you for obtaining it under false pretense.”