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Updated: May 11, 2025
Adna pondered aloud, his claim-agent instincts alert: "Settlement, eh? What might you call settlement?" "Whatever you'd consider fair. How much would you say was right?" Adna filled his lungs and mouthed the deliciously liquid word as if it were a veritable aurum potabile: "Millions!" "What!" Jim gasped. Adna fairly gargled it again: "Millillions!"
Her people not only were poor, but lived more poorly than they had to. They had, in consequence, a little reserve of funds, which they took pride in keeping up. The three Thropps came now to New York for the first time in their three lives. They were almost as ignorant as the other peasant immigrants that steam in from the sea. Adna Thropp, the father, was a local claim-agent on a small railroad.
He's coming here this evening." To Adna, the humble railroad claim-agent, the careless tossing off of the great railroad name of Dyckman was what it would have been to a rural parson to hear Kedzie remark: "I'm giving a little dinner to-night to my friends Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Mr. Apostle Paul."
Dyckman a couple of shabby, poor relations, and Kedzie called it shameful that her father, who was a kind of father-in-law-in-law to the duchess, should earn a pittance as a claim-agent in the matter of damaged pigs and things. Jim, like all millionaires, had dozens of poor relations and felt neither the right nor the obligation to enrich them all.
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