He would like the money then and there.

Jack's manner with the dealer was even more lordly and condescending
than with the would-be buyer.

"Want a check--when--now? My dear sir! when I bought that Monet was
there anything said about my paying for it in twenty-four hours?
To-morrow, when my argosies arrive laden with the spoils of the far
East, but not now. I never pay for anything immediately--it would injure
my credit. Sit down and let me offer you a cigar--my governor imports
'em and so you can be assured they are good. By the way--what's become
of that Ziem I saw in your window last week? The Metropolitan ought to
have that picture."

The one-eyed dealer--Jack was right, he had but one eye--at once agreed
with Jack as to the proper ultimate destination of the Ziem, and under
the influence of the cigar which Jack had insisted on lighting for him,
assisted by Jack's casual mention of his father--a name that was known
to be good for half a million--and encouraged--greatly encouraged
indeed--by an aside from Sam that the painter had already been offered
more than he paid for it by a man worth millions--under all these
influences, assistances, and encouragements, I say, the one-eyed dealer
so modified his demands that an additional twenty-four hours was
granted Jack in which to settle his account, the Monet to remain in his
possession.

When Sam returned from this second bowing-out his language was more
temperate. "You're a Cracker-Jack," was all he said, and closed the door
behind him.