This makes seven hundred and eighty-one, sir.
Old Morton. How, sir! (Quickly.) There were but seven hundred
and seventy-nine last night.
Jackson. Beg pardon, sir! The gentleman who carried Mr. Alexander's
valise from the boat was the seven hundred and eightieth.
Old Morton. Explain yourself, sir.
Jackson. He imparted to me, while receiving his stipend, the fact
that he did not believe young Mr. Alexander was your son. An hour
later, sir, he also imparted to me confidentially that he believed
you were his father, and requested the loan of five dollars, to be
repaid by you, to enable him to purchase a clean shirt, and appear
before you in respectable condition. He waited for you an hour,
and expressed some indignation that he had not an equal show with
others to throw himself into your arms.
Don Jose (rising, aside, and uplifting his hands). Carramba!
These Americanos are of the Devil! (Aloud.) Enough, Don Alexandro!
Then you think this letter is only worth--
Old Morton. One moment. I can perhaps tell you exactly its market
value. (To JACKSON.) Go on, sir.
Jackson. At half-past ten, sir, then being slightly under the
influence of liquor, he accepted the price of a deck passage to
Stockton.
Old Morton. How much was that, sir?
Jackson. Fifty cents.
Old Morton. Exactly so! There you have, sir (to DON JOSE), the
market value of the information you have received.
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