"What's that for?" I asked, involuntarily taking the bills.
"I meant to give you more," said he.
"More!" I exclaimed.
"I didn't know what I was about very well last night," he added, with a groan which expressed the anguish he felt for his error. "I ought to have given you a hundred."
"Why, no, sir! I don't ask anything," I replied, confounded by his words.
"You don't understand it as well as I do," said he, shaking his head, and bestowing a mournful look upon me.
"But I can't take a hundred dollars, sir."
"Yes, you can, and you must. I shall not feel right about it if you don't. It ought to be a thousand; but I shall make it up to you some time."
"Why, Squire Fishley, if you had given me a couple of dollars, I should have thought you had treated me very handsomely," I protested.
"You saved my life."