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These bids of mine must go through and gas must be kept at a dollar-fifty. I'm a rich man, but at present I'm up to my neck in southern contracts that aren't paying ten cents on the dollar. Herculaneum's got to foot the bill." "How'd you find out about Henderson's coup?" "One of the waiters at his club said he had some information.
Trapes suddenly reappeared, clutching a toasting fork. "Mr. Geoffrey," she said, glaring still, "them candies must ha' cost you a sight o' money?" "True, certain monies were expended, Mrs. Trapes." "They must ha' cost you well nigh a dollar-fifty, I reckon?" "They did!" nodded Mr. Ravenslee, smiling. "My land!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, and vanished again. Mr.
Jake said, "Dollar-fifty." "Two," said Moe. "One seventy-five." "Two." "Go find it and put it back." "Gimme the buck-six," grunted Moe. "Pretty cheap for a good shoe, a wheel, and a sausage." "Bring it in alone next time, and I'll slip you two-fifty. That gang you use costs, too. Now scram, Jimmy James and I got business to talk over." "He taking over?" "Don't talk stupid. I need a spotter.
All forget we have trouble wit' him. We wait to hear how he is. Wa! he say to us right out of his bed dollar-fifty or starve! Why should we wait till he get well? He does not wait!" Another man, a burly, purple-cheeked son of earth, took up the harangue at the point where Jean Bateese dropped it. This was Jack Mackenzie, Simon said. "Me, I am sick of waiting, too!" he cried.
"It is a sovereign specific. You can get it at any drug-store. It comes in two sizes, the dollar-fifty or large size, and the . . ." Mrs Peagrim rose majestically. "Major Selby, I am tired . . ." "Precisely. And, as I say, Nervino . . ." "Please," said Mrs. Peagrim coldly, "go to the stage-door and see if you can find my limousine. It should be waiting in the street."
At East Ridge, this man and a couple of other fellows had rented a two room cabin and started to board themselves, in spite of the fact that they had to pay a dollar-fifty a sack for potatoes and eleven cents a pound for sugar at the company store.
"Pretty soon, I t'ink, the people not listen to him no more. They are mad. This year there will be trouble about the grain. Gaviller put the price down to dollar-fifty bushel. But he sell flour the same." "Do you mean to say he buys your grain at his own price, and sells you back the flour at his own price?" demanded Ambrose. Tole nodded. "My fat'er the first farmer here," he explained.
As for real taste in literature the ability to appreciate at its worth a dollar-fifty novel of last month, in a spring jacket with a tango frontispiece I hadn't got it and he knew it. He despised me, of course. But it is a maxim of the book business that a professor standing up in a corner buried in a book looks well in a store. The real customers like it.
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