The Winged Beetle

MR TODD 193 EUPHEMIA. Is it a dog ? [Whistles.] Here, Fido, Fido ! Trust, doggie, trust ! OSSORY. that’s it ! they won’t trust, those dogs ! To put it short—[a spasm of agony crosses his face]—Good Lord alive, I’m short ! If I can’t find a couple of hundred thousand before the twelfth I’ll be hammered. EUPHEMIA. And so——? OSSORY. Very decent young fellow, little Delhomme. I can borrow half a million from him if I want it ; but I don’t care to unless—unless things—unless you—— EUPHEMIA. I’m the goods, am I ? You old bear ! OSSORY. I know, Phemie, I know. It’s those damned bulls on Wall Street ! How could I foresee—— EUPHEMIA. At least you might have foreseen that I was not a bale of cotton. OSSORY. But I shall be hammered, my dear child. We shall all have to go to the workhouse ! EUPHEMIA. [coldly]. I thought mamma had three thou- sand a year of her own. OSSORY. That’s just what I say. The workhouse ! EUPHEMIA. My dear father, I really can’t pity you. I think you’re a fool, and you’ve insulted me. Good morning ! [She goes out. OSSORY. Oh, the disgrace of it, the shame of it ! She little knows—How will the Receiver look at that Gala- pagos turtle deal ? Receivers are damned fools. And juries are worse. Ah, Phemie, so little a sacrifice for the father who has given all for you—and she refuses ! Cruel ! Cruel ! Which way can I turn ? Is there nobody whose credit—— Let’s think. Jenkins ? No good. Maur ?