his head tilted a little, a grin on him in the relish of his own shrewdness and the p'int of the joke he was hiding, to be revealed in his own comfortable way.
"Ye'll remimber," said Jack, puffing hard to get her going, taking her up a link, as the railroaders say, after a little, proceeding at ease; "ye'll remimber the promise Burnett made to us, the thing that caught us be the tails and puhlled us in. That was, on the oath and honor of him, he'd turn every dollar we invisted along of him into two, come Christmas or before."
"I remember."
"Sure you do. He's done it; he's made good on his word. But little good it'll do me and the rest of them."
"How do you mean he's made good on his promise to double your money, Jack? I don't get the joke."
"No," said Jack, easily. "I've not come to it. You saw in the papers the man's gone to Mexico?"
"That's what they say."
"So he's made good on his promise to turn every dollar into two," Jack declared. "In Mexico every American dollar is wort' two of the kind they have in that place. So, you see, Burnett had it in mind all the time to do it. That was the joke the sly felly had up his sleeve to shake out on us like a mouse."
With the appreciation of a true humorist, Jack did not weaken his joke by enlargement or further comment. He gathered up his lanterns and went on his business, his rolling, comfortable waddle indicative of a mind at ease.
Hall looked after him with a respect and admiration he never had felt for the oily philosopher before. That was a heavy loss for Ryan, let him cover the hurt of it as he would under his prospect of coming into a kingdom of
