"Where you going, Mr. Bofinker? What you going to do? What about my money?"
"Sammamon, you idiot," Bofinger cried with an oath, "don't stop me! I've got to have every moment. You fool, I'm not running away! If you don't believe it, get in there and go with me."
And half lifting him he pounced into the hansom, crying:
"To Fargus's Chop House, Broadway near Fortieth."
"You pay?" Sammamon cried menacingly as the hansom swung into its reckless course. The rapacious fingers instinctively closed over Bofinger's sleeve as he added aggressively: "How you pay now?"
"Sammamon, I've a mind to run you out of business!" Bofinger cried furiously. "Take your hand off me and let me alone! Can't you see I've got enough to think over."
"You pay?" the money-lender persisted doggedly.
"Damn you, of course I'll pay you!" Bofinger cried. "See here, we lose two thirds by that devil's turning up, but there's always the dower right which belongs to my wife,—a third, if you know enough law to know that. A third is a third of a million, and that's safe in real estate, where he can't convert it. You've got nothing to worry over."
"What you doing now?" Sammamon said, but half convinced.
"Trying to get hold of Fargus, of course," Bofinger said irritably, "before he can get away, to delay matters."