“Of course you did, and you must have it. So shall the Reverend Mr. Johnson,” said Mr. Graeme. His tone expressed such sudden amiability that the old woman glanced at him suspiciously, but he was smiling softly and thoughtfully to himself.
“What did you do with the four hundred and fifty-five dollars you drew out of bank last week? Did you invest it or lend it to Mr. Johnson?” It was a bow drawn at venture, but the arrow hit the mark, as Mr. Graeme saw.
“I 'vested it.”
“You mean Mr. Johnson invested it for you? By the way, what is his first name!”
“Yes, sir. His name 's de Rev. Amos Johnson.”
“By George! I thought so,” said Graeme, half aloud. “I saw him at the races last week. I knew I had seen him before.” His countenance grew suddenly cheerful.
“What did he give you to show for it?”
“He did n't gi' me nothin'. He 's gwine to draw the intrust for me.”
“Oh! I thought so. Well, I want to see the Rev. Mr. Johnson when he comes next time. When do you expect him?”
“I ain't 'pectin' him 't all. He comes sometimes. He was a friend o' Cæsar's.”