"Shekels, dollars, for cash under whatever name you choose to give it;
and then some fine morning they all wake up."
"Well?" demanded Snaffle, to whom the jest seemed not in the least
distasteful. "And what then?"
"Oh, what is usually left of dreams when one wakes up in the morning?"
The fat person of the speculator shook with appreciation of the wit of
this sally, which did not seem to Greenfield so funny as from the
laughter of the others he supposed it must really be. The latter rose
when Snaffle did and prepared to say good-night, but Mrs. Sampson
detained him. "I want to speak with you a moment," she said. "Good-
night, Mr. Snaffle. Bear us in mind when Princeton Platinum has made
your fortune, and don't look down on us."
"No fear," he returned. "When that happens, I shall come to you for
advice how to spend it."
There was too much covetousness in her voice as she answered jocosely
that she could tell him. The struggle of life made even a jesting
supposition of wealth excite her cupidity. She sighed as she turned
back into the parlor and motioned Greenfield to a seat. Placing herself
in a low, velvet-covered chair, she stretched out her feet before her,
displaying the black silk stocking upon a neat instep as she crossed
them upon a low stool.
"I am sure I don't know how to say what I want to," she began, knitting
her brows in a perplexity that was only part assumed.
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