“What is your business? Your business is to be with me.”
“I don’t earn my living with you,” said Morris. “Or rather,” he cried with a sudden inspiration, “that’s just what I do—or what the world says I do!”
This ought perhaps to have been a great stroke, but it miscarried. “Where are you going?” Catherine simply repeated.
“To New Orleans. About buying some cotton.”
“I am perfectly willing to go to New Orleans.” Catherine said.
“Do you suppose I would take you to a nest of yellow fever?” cried Morris. “Do you suppose I would expose you at such a time as this?”
“If there is yellow fever, why should you go? Morris, you must not go!”
“It is to make six thousand dollars,” said Morris. “Do you grudge me that satisfaction?”
“We have no need of six thousand dollars. You think too much about money!”
“You can afford to say that? This is a great chance; we heard of it last night.” And he explained to her in what the chance consisted; and told her a long story, going over more than once several of the details, about the remarkable stroke of business which he and his partner had planned between them.