“Ver’ well. I am fin’ Skip’ Jim. He sit in thee bes’ room of thee Skip’ Bill Tissol’s house. All thee ’lone. God is good! Nobody there. What have I see? Gold! Gold! The heap of gold! The beeg, beeg heap of gold! I am not can tell you!” The man was breathing in gasps; in the pause his jaw dropped, his yellow eyes were distended. “Ha!” he ejaculated. “So I am thank thee dear, good God I am not come thee too late. Gold! Gold! The heap of gold! I am pray ver’ hard to be good business man. I am close thee eye an’ pray thee good God I am be ver’ good business man for one hour. ‘Jus’ one hour, O my God!’ I pray. ‘Leave me be ver’, ver’ good business man for jus’ one leet-tle ver’ small hour. I am geeve one hun’red fifty to thee Orth’dox Church in Washin’ton Street, O my God,’ I pray, ‘if I be mos’ ver’ good business man for thee one hour!’ An’ I shake thee head an’ look at thee rich ol’ Skip’ Jim with thee ver’ mos’ awful sad look I am can. “‘Oh, Skip’ Jim!’ I say. ‘Fear-r-ful! How have your house cotch thee fire?’ “‘Thee boy of Skip’ Elisha,’ he say. “‘Oh, Skip’ Jim,’ I say, ‘what have you do by thee wicked boy?’ “‘What have I do?’ he say. ‘He cannot have mend thee bad business. What have I do? I am not wish thee hurt to thee poor, poor boy.’ “There sit thee beeg fool—thee ver’ beeg fool—thee mos’ fearful fool in all thee worl’. Ol’ Skip’ Jim All—thee beeg fool! There he sit, by thee ’lone; an’ the heap of good gold is on thee table; an’ the candle is burnin’; an’ the beeg white wheesk-airs is ver’ white an’ mos’ awful long; an’ thee beeg han’s is on thee gold, an’ thee salt-sores from thee feeshin’ is on thee han’s; an’ thee tear is in thee ol’ eyes of ol’ Skip’ Jim All. So once more I pray thee good God to be made ver’ good business man for thee one hour; an’ I close thee door ver’ tight. “‘Oh, Tom Shiva,’ he says, ‘I am ruin’!’ “‘Ver’ sad,’ I say. ‘Oh, dear!’ “‘I am ruin’—ruin’!’ he say. ‘Oh, I am ruin’! What have I do?’ “‘Ver’, ver’ sad,’ I say. ‘Oh, Skip’ Jim,’ I say, ‘tis ver’ sad!’ “‘Ruin’!’ he say. ‘I am not be rich no more. I am ver’ poor man, Tom Shiva. I am once be rich; but I am not be rich no more.’ “I am not know what he mean. ‘Not be rich no more?’ I say. ‘Not be rich no more?’ “‘Look!’ he say. ‘Look, Tom Shiva! Thee gold! Thee seven lobster-tin of gold!’ “‘I am see, Skip’ Jim,’ I say. “‘Ah,’ he say, in thee mos’ awful, thee ver’ mos’ awful, speak, ‘it is all spoil’! It is all spoil’! I am ruin’!’