"What's wrong with him?" I asked.
"Hadn't you heard?" said my friend. "He's ruined—absolutely cleaned out—not a cent left."
"Dear me!" I said. "That's awfully hard. I suppose he'll have to sell that beautiful motor?"
My friend shook his head.
"Oh, no," he said. "He'll hardly do that. I don't think his wife would care to sell that."
My friend was right. The Overjoys have not sold their motor. Neither have they sold their magnificent sandstone residence. They are too much attached to it, I believe, to sell it. Some people thought they would have given up their box at the opera. But it appears not. They are too musical to care to do that. Meantime it is a matter of general notoriety that the Overjoys are absolutely ruined; in fact, they haven't a single cent. You could buy Overjoy—so I am informed—for ten dollars.
But I observe that he still wears a seal-lined coat worth at least five hundred.