He is only
having a cigar, and he'll be right pleased to see you."
As she spoke she opened the door of a small sitting-room and pushed
Carrie in, slamming it behind her. The echo of her rude laughter as she
performed this unladylike feat was heard down the passage.
Sam was seated in front of an open window smoking a cigar. When he saw
Carrie he removed it from his mouth and came forward in a somewhat
nonchalant way to meet her.
"Now, Car," he said, "what's up? Any news? Can we have a jolly time next
Sunday?"
"Yes," answered Carrie panting slightly, "and for as many other Sundays
as you like. See here, Sam, I cannot wait a minute now. You know you
once told me that I was a frivolous little thing, that I was
extravagant, and all that. Now, what will you say if I ask you to put
seven pounds in the bank for me?"
"Seven pounds!" cried Sam; "'pon my word! Where in the world did you get
it, Car?"
"It's out of my savings," replied Carrie.
"Well, I must say--" Sam gave her a look of the broadest admiration he
had ever yet bestowed upon her. "You can bank it for me, can you not?"
"Yes, that I can. But I say, Car, would you like me to speculate with
it? I might double it, you know."
"Oh, do what you like with it, only keep it safe," answered Carrie.
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