“Well, and reasonable it is, that I must say,” cried Dalton, who, looking at the whole as a lucky windfall, was by no means indisposed to see others share in the good fortune. “How much is coming to me, Abel?” “Your total balance is four thousand two hundred and twenty-seven florins eight kreutzers, Müntze,” said Abel, giving the sum a resonance of voice highly imposing and impressive. “How many pounds is that now?” asked Peter. “Something over three hundred and fifty pounds sterling, sir.” “Is it? Faith! a neat little sum. Not but I often got rid of as much of an evening at blind-hookey, with old Carters, of the 'Queen's Bays.' Ye don't know Carters? Faix! and ye 'd be the very man he would know, if ye were in the same neighborhood. I wish he was here to-day; and that reminds me that I must go over to the market and see what's to be had. Ye don't happen to know if there's any fish to-day?” Abel could not answer this important question, but offered to send his servant to inquire; but Dalton, declining the attention, strolled out into the street, jingling his Napoleons in his pocket as he went, and feeling all the importance and self-respect that a well-filled purse confers on him who has long known the penniless straits of poverty. He owed something on every side of him; but he could bear to face his creditors now; he was neither obliged to be occupied with a letter, nor sunk in a fit of abstraction as he passed them; nay, he was even jocular and familiar, and ventured to criticise the wares for which, once, he was almost grateful.