(Aloud.) I accept. (CAPPER has been trying doors
R. and L.)
Capper. What room is this? (At R.)
Old Morton. My son's: I would prefer--
Capper. And this? (At L.)
Old Morton. Mine, sir; if you choose--
Capper (locking door, and putting key in his pocket). This will
do. Oblige me by making the necessary arrangements in your
counting-room.
Old Morton (hesitating and aside). He is right: perhaps it is only
prudence, and I am saving Alexander additional care and annoyance.
[Exit.
Enter MR. SHADOW cautiously, C.
Shadow (in a lisping whisper to CAPPER). I've got the litht of the
clerkth complete.
Capper (triumphantly). Put it in your pocket, Shadow. We don't
care for the lackeys now: we are after the master.
Shadow. Eh! the mathter?
Capper. Yes: the master,--the young master, the reclaimed son, the
reformed prodigal! ha, ha!--the young man who compensates himself
for all this austere devotion to business and principle by dipping
into the old man's vaults when he wants a pasear: eh, Shadow?
That's the man we're after. Look here! I never took any stock in
that young man's reformation. Ye don't teach old sports like him
new tricks. They're a bad lot, father and son,--eh, Shadow?--and
he's a chip of the old block. I spotted him before this robbery,
before we were ever called in here professionally. I've had my eye
on Alexander Morton, alias John Oakhurst; and, when I found the old
man's doubloons raked over a monte-table at Sacramento, I knew
where to look for the thief.
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