Jacques Futrelle

“ Instead:
“You are not a rich man, are you, Daddy?” she asked curiously. “I mean rich in the sense of the great rich men of New York?”
“I’m a pauper, compared to the Wall Street crowd,” Clarke replied steadily. “I am worth perhaps three hundred thousand dollars, perhaps less. However, if Smith stays in jail for a week, just a week, I’ll be worth millions! Millions, Girly! Do you understand?” ”

“ And as he looked she seemed to be overcome suddenly by a violent revulsion of feeling and he found heron her knees beside the bed, her wet face buried in the sheets, sobbing.
“Forgive me, Daddy!” she pleaded. “Forgive me! It’s all so strange, so unreal! I can’t understand. I don’t suppose I ever shall. I think I am not—not quite myself.” ”

“ One hand, exploring, came in contact with the little leather bag. The bonds! He smiled. They were safe yet! Smith hadn’t been able to get them!
“I’m quite well.” he continued, and there was a steadier note in the quavering voice. “In another week I’ll be good as new. It takes more than a little typhoid to knock out your daddy, girly.” ”