“No; this can’t be yours. This is a snuff-box with a history. It belonged, my dear father, to a great philanthropist; and it was discovered in a breakfast-room in the Regent’s Park.”
At this Tom exhibited the pretty receptacle, saying,—
“How much do you say for this highly authenticated heirloom?”
“The two hundred you asked for this morning, Tom,” replied the father, with more coolness than might reasonably been expected under the circumstances.
“Not enough,” said the son.
“Three hundred—five hundred!” gasped the philanthropist.
“Say a thousand,” insinuated Tom.
“I’ll be d—d if I do!” replied the philanthropist, with the utmost decision.
“Then,” said Tom, rising, “I’ll take it to her ladyship, and see what she’ll give me for it—and for its story.”
“Tom, sit down, I command you. Not a word of this. The money is yours.”