"What's o'clock, father?"
"Nine, my dear."
"It's getting on. Only think that at twelve o'clock to-day I shall have entered into another sphere of existence."
"It's very vunderful," said Methusaleh.
"It's one of those dispensations, father, that comes like great actors, once in a thousand years."
Mr Moses, senior, drew from his pocket a dirty cotton handkerchief, and applied it to his eyes.
"Oh, Aby," said he, in a snivelling tone, "if your mother vos but alive to see it. But, tank God, my dear, she's out of this vicked vorld of sorrow and trouble. But let's talk of business," he added, in a livelier tone. "This is a serious affair, my boy. I hope you'll take care of your place, ven you gets it."
"Trust me for that, Septuagenarian," replied the son.
"Votever you does, do it cleverly, and don't be found out. Dere's a mint of money to be made in more vays than one. If your friends vant cash, bring 'em to me. I'll allow you handsome."
"Have you got the three hundred ready, father?"