Son, I'm goin' to be your business manager.

If we can't make a twenty-dollar gold-piece a night--say, son, we're goin' to move into better quarters.

An' the old gent up at the Hotel de Bronx is goin' to move into an outside room.

An' Kwaque's goin' to get a real outfit of clothes.

Killeny, my boy, we're goin' to get so rich that if he can't snare a sucker we'll put up the cash ourselves 'n' buy a schooner for 'm, 'n' send him out a-treasure- huntin' on his own.