“Whatever you'd consider fair. How much would you say was right?”
Adna filled his lungs and mouthed the deliciously liquid word as if it were a veritable aurum potabile:
“Millions!”
“What!” Jim gasped.
Adna fairly gargled it again:
“Millillions!”
The greed in the old man's eyes shot Dyckman's eyes with blood. He snarled:
“So it's the plain old blackmail, eh? Well, you can go plumb to hell!”
“All right,” said Adna, felicitously, “but we won't go alone. I and daughter will have comp'ny. Come on, Mr. Beattie.”
After they had gone Jim realized that his hatred of being gouged had involved Charity's priceless reputation. He told McNiven to recall Beattie, but Charity herself appeared in a new and militant humor.