- end_line
- 3411
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:57.722Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 3329
- text
- self-seeking? To solicit out of hand, for my private behoof, an hundred
dollars from a perfect stranger? I am not mad, my dear sir."
"How, how?" still more bewildered, "do you, then, go about the world,
gratis, seeking to invest people's money for them?"
"My humble profession, sir. I live not for myself; but the world will
not have confidence in me, and yet confidence in me were great gain."
"But, but," in a kind of vertigo, "what do--do you do--do with people's
money? Ugh, ugh! How is the gain made?"
"To tell that would ruin me. That known, every one would be going into
the business, and it would be overdone. A secret, a mystery--all I have
to do with you is to receive your confidence, and all you have to do
with me is, in due time, to receive it back, thrice paid in trebling
profits."
"What, what?" imbecility in the ascendant once more; "but the vouchers,
the vouchers," suddenly hunkish again.
"Honesty's best voucher is honesty's face."
"Can't see yours, though," peering through the obscurity.
From this last alternating flicker of rationality, the miser fell back,
sputtering, into his previous gibberish, but it took now an arithmetical
turn. Eyes closed, he lay muttering to himself--
"One hundred, one hundred--two hundred, two hundred--three hundred,
three hundred."
He opened his eyes, feebly stared, and still more feebly said--
"It's a little dim here, ain't it? Ugh, ugh! But, as well as my poor old
eyes can see, you look honest."
"I am glad to hear that."
"If--if, now, I should put"--trying to raise himself, but vainly,
excitement having all but exhausted him--"if, if now, I should put,
put----"
"No ifs. Downright confidence, or none. So help me heaven, I will have
no half-confidences."
He said it with an indifferent and superior air, and seemed moving to
go.
"Don't, don't leave me, friend; bear with me; age can't help some
distrust; it can't, friend, it can't. Ugh, ugh, ugh! Oh, I am so old and
miserable. I ought to have a guardian. Tell me, if----"
"If? No more!"
"Stay! how soon--ugh, ugh!--would my money be trebled? How soon,
friend?"
"You won't confide. Good-bye!"
"Stay, stay," falling back now like an infant, "I confide, I confide;
help, friend, my distrust!"
From an old buckskin pouch, tremulously dragged forth, ten hoarded
eagles, tarnished into the appearance of ten old horn-buttons, were
taken, and half-eagerly, half-reluctantly, offered.
"I know not whether I should accept this slack confidence," said the
other coldly, receiving the gold, "but an eleventh-hour confidence, a
sick-bed confidence, a distempered, death-bed confidence, after all.
Give me the healthy confidence of healthy men, with their healthy wits
about them. But let that pass. All right. Good-bye!"
"Nay, back, back--receipt, my receipt! Ugh, ugh, ugh! Who are you? What
have I done? Where go you? My gold, my gold! Ugh, ugh, ugh!"
But, unluckily for this final flicker of reason, the stranger was now
beyond ear-shot, nor was any one else within hearing of so feeble a
call.
- title
- Chunk 3