“Say ten thousand, more or less.”

“Put down fifteen; I’d jest as lief it was more ’n less.  Put down a hundred dollars fer me, I mean to hev a good suit o’ clothes myself.  What does that come to?”

“Twenty-five thousand, one hundred dollars.  Aren’t you wasting time, Mr. Panel?”

“Nit.  Of course if we happened to be interrupted it might be awkward fer you.  If somebody should call, you’ll say, of course, that yer very particularly engaged, eh?”

“Yes,” said Nathaniel Leveson.  “To oblige me, Mr. Panel, take your finger from that trigger.”

“Ah?  I’d ought ter hev done that before.  I’d disremembered ’twas a hair trigger.  Now then, put down Sunny Bushes, includin’ the oil lake, at yer own figger, fifty thousand.  Got it?  Yas.  Now then, for wear an’ tear of two precious souls an’ bodies—­that’s it!  Fifty thousand more.  Got it?  Yas.  How much now?”

“One hundred and twenty-five thousand, one hundred dollars.”

“Right!  What does a marble hall cost?”

“A marble——­”

“You heard what I said plain enough.  You live in one yerself.  What did that leetle shebang on Nob Hill cost ye?”

“Four hundred thousand dollars.”

“Jiminy Christmas!  Marble halls come high, but you’ve a large fam’ly, more’s the pity.  Put down seventy-five thousand.  Got it?  Yas.  Now then, about statooary—­”

“Good God!”

“Don’t call on the Lord so loud.  I reckon he’s nearer than you give Him credit fer.  Statooary comes high, too, but one don’t want overly much of it.  A leetle gives a tone to a parlour.  Put down five thousand.  Got it!  Yas.  Furniture an’ fixins, lemmee see!  Wal, when it comes to buyin’ fixin’s, Mis’ Panel beats the world.  Put down ten thousand more.  Total, please!”

“Two hundred and fifteen thousand and one hundred dollars.”

“Make out yer personal note to me an’ Mis’ Panel fer that amount.  One day after date.  An’ consideration.  Sunny Bushes, oil, mortgage an’ all, but not the stock, I wouldn’t sell any living critter to sech as you.  There’s pen an’ ink all handy.”

We heard the scratching of pen on paper.

“Ye look mighty pleased,” said Uncle Jap, “an’ it’s not because yer gittin’ a property wuth a million for a quarter its value, nor because late in the day ye’ve squared an ugly account, but because yer thinkin’ that this yere note ain’t wuth the paper it’s written on.  An’ it ain’t-yit.”

Again Mrs. Panel nudged me.  Her beatific expression told me more eloquently than words that her Jasper was the greatest man on earth.

“Notes-of-hand given by onreliable parties must be secured,” said Uncle Jap slowly.  “This yere is goin’ to be secured by a confession, dictated by me, written out an’ signed by you.  When the note is paid, I hand over the confession—­see!  If the note ain’t paid prompt, the confession goes to the noospapers of this enlightened land.  I shall git something from them for sech a remarkable doccyment.  But, first of all, here an’ now, you can make a small payment on the note.  Give me that di’mond ring, an’ the di’mond pin. Quick!”