"Yes, but I haven't come to discuss her. We were talking just now about the prospect of your going away, and the probability that you might not have money enough to settle in a city. Mr. McElwin is willing to help you toward that end, and has signed a check for five hundred dollars, made out in your name. Here it is." He handed the check to Lyman, who took it, looked at it and said: "He writes a firm hand. Money gives a man confidence in himself, doesn't it?" He held out the check toward Sawyer. The latter did not take it, and it fluttered in the air and fell to the floor. Sawyer took it up and put it on the table, with an ink stand on it to hold it down.
"It is yours, Mr. Lyman; it is made out to you."
"Upon the condition that I leave here and remain away as long as one year. Is that it?"
"Well, yes."
"I told you that I have enough money to burn a wet elephant. I haven't—I haven't enough to scorch a dry cricket."
"Then you will accept the check," said Sawyer, brightening.
Lyman had struck a match, as if to light his pipe. He took up the check and held it to the blaze. "Look out," he said, as Sawyer sprung to interfere. "Sit down." He took the cinders and wrapped them in a piece of paper, folding it neatly. "Give this to Mr. McElwin and tell him that I have cremated the little finger of his god, and send him the ashes," he said.
Sawyer stood gazing at him in astonishment.
"I told you to sit down. You won't sit down. And you won't take the god-ashes to the devotee. Come, that's unkind."
"Sir, you have insulted me."