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"Don't look so distracted, my darling." "M-m-my g-gold p-p-pencil," she stuttered. "Is that all?" and Foster smiled in relief. "I'll buy you another tomorrow." "Indeed you won't," recovering some degree of composure. "I'll find mine, if I have to search this house from the top to the bottom." "But please see Miss Whitney first," broke in Mitchell. Miss Kiametia cast him a strange look.
"You mean that there wouldn't ANYTHING do, only silver pieces like those?" he questioned hopefully. "Sugar, kid, 'course there would! Gosh, but you BE a checkerboard o' sense an' nonsense, an' no mistake! Any money would do the job any money! Don't ye see? Anything that's money." "Would g-gold do it?" David's voice was very faint now.
"He's been trying to I don't know what. Kill me, I guess. Do you know him?" "Don't we!" they both exclaimed together. And then the one at the wheel said: "Has he g-got his g-gold machine here?" "Yes," I said, "he and another man. They're a couple of crooks, and they're cheating people out of stacks of money. How did you know him?" "Oh, he's b-been at the house.