"You don't know what the "We're Here's" worth. Your dad must hey a
pile o' money. How did he git it? Dad sez loonies can't shake out
a straight yarn. Go ahead."

"In gold-mines and things, West."

"I've read o' that kind o' business. Out West, too? Does he go
around with a pistol on a trick-pony, same ez the circus? They call
that the Wild West, and I've heard that their spurs an' bridles was
solid silver."

"You are a chump!" said Harvey, amused in spite of himself. "My
father hasn't any use for ponies. When he wants to ride he takes
his car."

"Haow? Lobster-car?"

"No. His own private car, of course. You've seen a private car
some time in your life?"

"Slatin Beeman he hez one," said Dan, cautiously. "I saw her at
the Union Depot in Boston, with three niggers hoggin' her run."
(Dan meant cleaning the windows.) "But Slatin Beeman he owns
'baout every railroad on Long Island, they say; an' they say he's
bought 'baout ha'af Noo Hampshire an' run a line-fence around her,
an' filled her up with lions an' tigers an' bears an' buffalo an'
crocodiles an' such all. Slatin Beeman he's a millionaire. I've
seen his car. Yes?"