The fact is, Bill, I've got money enough--three millions and better; but somehow it doesn't seem to do the thing.

It doesn't fetch us to the quality and make us fust-cut.

We need better blood than the Peterkins or the Moshers--need boostin', and you must get a wife to boost us.

Have you ever thought on't ?' 'Billy never had thought of it in that light,' he said, although he had thought of marrying, providing the girl would have him.
'Have you! Thunderation! A girl would be a fool who wouldn't marry three millions, with Lubber-too thrown in! Who is she ?' Peterkin asked.
After a little hesitancy Billy replied: 'Jerrie Crawford.' 'Jerrie Crawford! I'll be dammed! Jerrie Crawford!' and Peterkin's big feet came down from the back of the chair on which they were resting, upsetting the chair and his brandy at the same time.

'Jerrie Crawford! I swow! A gal without a cent, or name either, though I used to have a sneakin' notion that I knew who she was, but I guess I didn't.