“Well, snacks it is, replied Pullwool. “Haven’t you had a thousand?”
“Yes,” admitted Dicker.
“Then you owe me five hundred?” Mr. Dicker did not faint, though he came very near it, but he staggered out of the room as white as a sheet, for the he was utterly crushed by this diabolical impudence.
That very day Mr. Pullwool left for Washington, and the Devil for his place, each of them sure to find the other when he wanted him, if indeed their roads lay apart.