is worth six of it.  More than four hundred thousand dollars to the good.  They took up the matrimonial matter again.  Neither the dentist nor the lawyer was mentioned; there was no occasion, they were out of the running.  Disqualified.  They discussed the son of the pork-packer and the son of the village banker.  But finally, as in the previous case, they concluded to wait and think, and go cautiously and sure.

Luck came their way again.  Aleck, ever watchful saw a great and risky chance, and took a daring flyer.  A time of trembling, of doubt, of awful uneasiness followed, for non-success meant absolute ruin and nothing short of it.  Then came the result, and Aleck, faint with joy, could hardly control her voice when she said: 

“The suspense is over, Sally—­and we are worth a cold million!”

Sally wept for gratitude, and said: 

“Oh, Electra, jewel of women, darling of my heart, we are free at last, we roll in wealth, we need never scrimp again.  It’s a case for Veuve Cliquot!” and he got out a pint of spruce-beer and made sacrifice, he saying “Damn the expense,” and she rebuking him gently with reproachful but humid and happy eyes.

They shelved the pork-packer’s son and the banker’s son, and sat down to consider the Governor’s son and the son of the Congressman.

CHAPTER VI

It were a weariness to follow in detail the leaps and bounds the Foster fictitious finances took from this time forth.  It was marvelous, it was dizzying, it was dazzling.  Everything Aleck touched turned to fairy gold, and heaped itself glittering toward the firmament.  Millions upon millions poured in, and still the mighty stream flowed thundering along, still its vast volume increased.  Five millions —­ten millions—­twenty—­thirty—­was there never to be an end?

Two years swept by in a splendid delirium, the intoxicated Fosters scarcely noticing the flight of time.  They were now worth three hundred million dollars; they were in every board of directors of every prodigious combine in the country; and still as time drifted along, the millions went on piling up, five at a time, ten at a time, as fast as they could tally them off, almost.  The three hundred double itself—­then doubled again—­and yet again—­and yet once more.

Twenty-four hundred millions!

The business was getting a little confused.  It was necessary to take an account of stock, and straighten it out.  The Fosters knew it, they felt it, they realized that it was imperative; but they also knew that to do it properly and perfectly the task must be carried to a finish without a break when once it was begun.  A ten-hours’ job; and where could they find ten leisure hours in a bunch?  Sally was selling pins and sugar and calico all day and every day; Aleck was cooking and washing dishes and sweeping and making beds all day and every day, with none to help, for the daughters were being saved up for high society.  The Fosters knew there was one way to get the ten hours, and only one.  Both were ashamed to name it; each waited for the other to do it.  Finally Sally said: