he's got it. I dunno—but something big, I tell you. He's actin' like a crazy man. Listen here! He wants t' know can you locate it—see it lyin' there underground. Why, the mummy; yes. M-u-m-m-i-e. Yes, sure! He's afraid mebbe they already dug him up an' got him in a musée somewheres, but if it's still there he wants it. Yes, sure thing, dontchu un'stand? Wants it! How in—how can I tell? That's up to you. Git here! Sure—fifty-fifty!"
Bean glanced up feverishly as the Countess reappeared. She was smoothing her hair and readjusting the set of the scarlet wrapper. Her own excitement was apparent.
"It's all right. I think he'll come, but it was a close call. He was jes' packin' his grip f'r Wash'n'ton. Got a telegraph from the Pres'dent to-day t' come at once. Of course he'll miss a big fee. The Pres'dent don't care f'r money when it's a question of gittin' th' right advice"
"Oh, money!" murmured Bean, and waved a contemptuous hand.
His manner was not lost upon his hearer.
"Lots of money made in a hurry, these days," she suggested, "or got hold of some way—gits left to parties—thousand dollars, mebbe—two, three, four thousand?"
Again he performed the pushing gesture, as if he were discommoded by money. He scarcely heard her voice.
The Countess did not venture another effort to appraise his wealth.
