“I don't wonder,” muttered Henry Bates.
“And the Walrus raised me fifteen bucks per. Just like that!”
“He raised you?”
“Yes, my child.” Hy came around, sat on the desk, dangled his legs.
“Then,” observed the Worm, “he certainly thinks you know.”
“Elucidate! Elucidate!”
The Worm knocked the ashes from his pipe; turned the warm bowl around and around in his hand. “Our paper—I should say The Courier—. has a story on Doctor Wilde—a charge that he has misappropriated missionary funds. They sent me up to-day to ask if he would consent to an accounting.”
Hy whistled.
“The amount is put roughly at a million dollars. I didn't care much about the assignment.”
“I should think not.”