"Not very much."
"I suppose not. Well, son, I make up my mind quickly about people. You strike me as something of a man. But I'm afraid you haven't got the backing to carry out this contract."
"We are prepared to show a reasonable income," declared Judge Enderby, "with a juster prospect of permanence than—well, for example, than Wall Street affords, at present."
"Possibly. Of course I could find our young friend here an ornamental and useless position in my office—"
"No, thank you," said the Tyro.
"No. I'd supposed not. Well, Mr. Smith, to keep that amiable young lady running at the rate of speed which she considers legal, trims fifty thousand a year down so fine that I could put the remainder in the plate on New Year's Sunday without a pang."
"Fifty thousand!" gasped the Tyro.
"Oh, the modern American girl is a high-priced luxury. Are you worth a million dollars?"
"No."
"See any prospect of getting a million?"