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: