“But it's such a lot of money.”
“To you, perhaps. Not to me. I'm a plutocrat. Five thousand dollars! What's five thousand dollars? I feed it to the birds.”
Ginger pondered woodenly for a while. His was a literal mind, and he knew nothing of Sally's finances beyond the fact that when he had first met her she had come into a legacy of some kind. Moreover, he had been hugely impressed by Fillmore's magnificence. It seemed plain enough that the Nicholases were a wealthy family.
“I don't like it, you know,” he said.
“You don't have to like it,” said Sally. “You just do it.”
A consoling thought flashed upon Ginger.
“You'd have to let me pay you interest.”
“Let you? My lad, you'll have to pay me interest. What do you think this is—a round game? It's a cold business deal.”
“Topping!” said Ginger relieved. “How about twenty-five per cent.”
“Don't be silly,” said Sally quickly. “I want three.”