"Pray, be calm," said Mrs. Sandford; "you shall know all about it."
"I don't want to know," he almost screamed; "I want the money, the money!"
Then dropping his voice to a lower key, and with a tone which was meant to be wheedling, he turned to his sister-in-law:—
"You've got it, then? How you frightened me! Come, dear sister! don't trifle with me. I'm poor, very poor, and the little sum seems large. Give it to me. Let me see that it is safe. Dear sister!"
"I haven't it," said Mrs. Sandford, "But compose yourself. You shall know about it."
He cried audibly, like a sickly child.
"It isn't gone? No, you play upon my fears. Where is the pocket-book?"
"How are you ever going to know, if you won't hear?" asked Marcia. "I wouldn't be so unmanly as to whine so even about a million."
"No, you think money is as plenty as buttons. Wait till you starve,—starve,—till you beg on a street-crossing."
"Listen," said Mrs. Sandford.