“Twenty thousand,” repeated Jack.
“And the other five thousand!”
“Makes twenty-five thousand cash in the Citizens’ Bank, payable at any time on demand, plus five hundred in the Seamen’s Savings, plus one hundred and fifty, representing a dividend I received yesterday from my western mining stock, which I deposited in the Emigrant Savings Bank on Chambers Street.”
“Any more?” asked Ed, in amazement.
“No; that’s all at present. Grand total, twenty-five thousand six hundred and fifty dollars.”
“Why, you’re a rich man.”
“Excuse me. I’m only seventeen. Won’t be a man for four more years yet.”
“That don’t cut any ice with you. It isn’t the legal limit that always makes the man,” said Potter sententiously. “I don’t call Percy Chamberlain a man, and he is over twenty-one.”
“You do me proud, Ed,” said Jack as they turned into East Broadway.
“Don’t mention it. But how did you get the tip this time? Or did you go it on your own judgment?”