"Look here, you fellows——" But Philip Hume went on: "Ten and sixpence is a good sum of money, a comfortable sum of money, and, my dear Arthur, I should say the full value of your poem. As to Dale's poem, who knows the value of Dale's poem? By what rod shall you measure——" He broke off with a laugh at Dale's gesture of protest.
"I'm making the deuce of a lot of money," said Dale in an awestruck tone. "It's rolling in. I don't know what to do with it."
"Littlehill will swallow it," said Philip.
"You don't mean that he sticks to that idea?" exclaimed Arthur. "You don't, do you, Dale?"
"I do," answered Dale. "I'm not going permanently. I'm not going to forsake our old ways or our old life. I'm not going to turn into a rich man."
"I hope not, by Jove!" cried Arthur.
"But I want to see the country—I've not seen it for years. And I want to see country people, and—and——"
"It'll end in our losing you," prophesied Arthur gloomily.
"Nonsense!" said Dale, flushing a little. "It'll end in nothing of the sort. I've only taken the house for a year."
"A gentleman's residence," said Philip; "five sitting rooms, twelve bedrooms, offices, stabling, and three acres of grounds."