"
Nothing could be read on the face; so he left her, cursing, as he
went, men who put themselves up at auction,--worse than Orleans
slaves. Margret laughed to herself at his passion; as for the
story he hinted, it was absurd. She forgot it in a moment.
Two or three gentlemen down in one of the counting-rooms, just
then, looked at the story from another point of view. They were
talking low, out of hearing from the clerks.
"It's a good thing for Holmes," said one, a burly, farmer-like
man, who was choosing specimens of wool.
"Cheap. And long credit. Just half the concern he takes."
"There is a lady in the case?" suggested a young doctor, who, by
virtue of having spent six months in the South, dropped his r-s,
and talked of "niggahs" in a way to make a Georgian's hair stand
on end.
"A lady in the case?"
"Of course. Only child of Herne's. HE comes down with the dust
as dowry. Good thing for Holmes. 'Stonishin' how he's made his
way up. If money 's what he wants in this world, he's making a
long stride now to 't."
The young doctor lighted his cigar, asserting that--
"Ba George, some low people did get on, re-markably! Mary Herne,
now, was best catch in town."
"Do you think money is what he wants?" said a quiet little man,
sitting lazily on a barrel,--a clergyman, Vandyke; whom his
clerical brothers shook their heads when they named, but never
argued with, and bowed to with uncommon deference.
The wool-buyer hesitated with a puzzled look.
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