Speck, on the other. Major MacBlarney is a fine, portly man, with a
slight Dublin brogue, who squeezes your hand as he would a sponge. Mr.
Bullion, reserved and haughty, wears green spectacles, and gives you a
forefinger. Mr. Emanuel Speck--unusually smart for the Bush, with a
blue-satin stock and one of those blouses common in Germany, with
elaborate hems and pockets enough for Briareus to have put all hands
into at once; is, thin, civil, and stoops--bows, smiles, and sits down
to dinner again, with the air of a man accustomed to attend to the main
chance.

Uncle Jack (his mouth full of beef).--"Famous beef!--breed it yourself,
eh? Slow work that cattle-feeding! [Empties the rest of the pickle-jar
into his plate.] Must learn to go ahead in the New World,--railway
times these! We can put him up to a thing or to, eh, Bullion?
[Whispering me] Great capitalist that Bullion! Look At Him!"

Mr. Bullion (gravely).--"A thing or two! If he has capital,--you have
said it, Mr. Tibbets." (Looks round for the pickles; the green
spectacles remain fixed upon Uncle Jack's plate.)

Uncle Jack.--"All that this colony wants is a few men like us, with
capital and spirit. Instead of paying paupers to emigrate, they should
pay rich men to come, eh, Speck?"

While Uncle Jack turns to Mr. Speck, Mr. Bullion fixes his fork in a
pickled onion in Jack's plate and transfers it to his own, observing,
not as incidentally to the onion, but to truth in general: "A man,
gentlemen, in this country, has only to keep his eyes on the look-out
and seize on the first advantage! Resources are incalculable!"