"Mr. Astor," rejoined the agent, "she can't pay it now; she has had
misfortunes, and we must give her time."
"No, no," said Astor; "I tell you she can pay it, and she will pay it.
You don't go the right way to work with her."
The agent took leave, and mentioned the anxiety of the old gentleman
with regard to this unpaid rent to his son, who counted out the
requisite sum, and told the agent to give it to the old man as if he
had received it from the tenant.
"There!" exclaimed Mr. Astor when he received the money, "I told you
she would pay it, if you went the right way to work with her."
Who would have twenty millions at such a price?
On the twenty-ninth of March, 1848, of old age merely, in the presence
of his family and friends, without pain or disquiet, this remarkable
man breathed his last. He was buried in a vault in the church of St.
Thomas in Broadway. Though he expressly declared in his will that he
was a member of the Reformed German Congregation, no clergyman of that
church took part in the services of his funeral. The unusual number of
six Episcopal Doctors of Divinity assisted at the ceremony.
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