Mrs. Schrimm looked hard at Sam and then she sat down on the sofa.
"What d'ye mean, black?" she gasped.
"I'm only talking in a manner of speaking, Henrietta," Sam explained. "What I mean is this."
He pulled an old envelope out of his pocket and explored his waistcoat for a stump of lead pencil.
"What I mean is," he continued, wetting the blunt point with his tongue, "ten bonds from Canadian Western, first mortgage from gold, mit a garantirt from the Michigan Midland Railroad, ten thousand dollars, interest at 6 per cent.—is six hundred dollars a year, ain't it?"
"Ye-ee-s," Mrs. Schrimm said hesitatingly. "Und?"
"Und," Sam said triumphantly, "fifty shares from Central Pacific at 154 apiece is seventy-seven hundred dollars, with dividends since thirty years they are paying it at 4 per cent. is two hundred dollars a year more, ain't it?"
Mrs. Schrimm nodded.
"What has all this got to do with me, Sam?" she asked.
Sam cleared his throat.