"Humph!" said old Goldfist, and pointed her to the door. She stole me a look, and, as she passed out, raised her hand archly to her lips. She was rather free, I confess; but she had lived a secluded life, and knew no better.
The old fellow gave me a sharp look, coughed phthisically twice or thrice, and then, with but little superfluous ceremony, asked me what I wanted.
"Money," said I.
"Oh, ay, always money. Who is to pay it? What's your security?"
"My uncle Wilkins," said I.
"Very good name, don't doubt," growled the bear; "the banks will take it. Don't do any business of that sort."
"Ged, faith, no," said I; "I don't come for money at six per cent., but on the old terms of usury. You know my uncle Wilkins, eh? Only two children—a fortune of eight hundred and seventy thousand dollars."
"Bah!" said the bull, "that will do for the girls and boys. Know all about him; one hundred and twenty, and half of it in railroads—good for nothing."
"Two hundred and ninety, bona fide," said I, "and half of it in bank-stock."
"Know all about it," said Mr. Skinner; "but what's that to you? Has a son of his own."