“It’s not the money that matters so much,” said the astounding foreigner, “it’s the titles.”
Captain Palliser stopped short in the garden path for a moment. He could scarcely believe his ears. The crude grotesqueness of it so far got the better of him that if he had not coughed he would have betrayed himself.
“I’ve had a confounded cold lately,” he said. “Excuse me; I must get it over.”
He turned a little aside and coughed energetically.
After watching him a few seconds, Tembarom slipped two fingers into his waistcoat pocket and produced a small tube of tablets.
“Take two of these,” he said as soon as the cough stopped. “I always carry it about with me. It’s a New York thing called ‘G. Destroyer.’ G stands for grippe.”
Palliser took it.
“Thanks. With water? No? Just dissolve in the mouth. Thanks awfully.” And he took two, with tears still standing in his eyes.
“Don’t taste bad, do they?” Mr. Temple Barholm remarked encouragingly.
“Not at all. I think I shall be all right now. I just needed the relief. I have been trying to restrain it.”