"You can get twelve percent on your money in a savings bank. It's really an expanding economy. Why, Chicago alone is worth more in dollars and cents than all the nations of earth in our time."
H.D. reflected this. "Well, how much is the Trust worth?"
Garry exchanged a few words with Junior. "About thirty million, he says."
"What!"
"Well," Garry hastened, "I know it isn't much for twenty million to grow to after all this time, but there have been expenses! What we had to spend for protection in the old days, when the mobs wanted to dynamite the vault!
"The sums that were spent on research to revive you! And then the Administrator, Junior here, has to live up to the Haworth name and that's expensive. He draws over a million a year."
"Why, that thieving, white-whiskered pip-squeak, I'll sue him within an inch of his life! I'll—"
"Now, now, Mr. Haworth, you're still a wealthy man."
H.D. glared. "Wealthy. Yes. And famous. The oldest Sleeper. Can't understand why the newsmen haven't been after me. In my time—"