"How much d'ye reckon we've got?"
"Between us? Hundred an' twelve pound, fourteen and six. That's after paying for rum, barrer and oddments. We could live," said Mr. Jope, removing his pipe from his mouth and pointing the stem at his friend in expository fashion—"we could live in this here house for more'n three years."
"Oh!" said Mr. Adams, but without enthusiasm. "Could we now?"
"That is, if we left out the vittles."
"But we're not goin' to."
"O' course not. Vittles for two'll run away with a heap of it. And then there'll be callers."
"Callers?" Mr. Adams's face brightened.
"Not the sort you mean. Country folk. It's the usual thing when strangers come an' settle in a place o' this size.…But, all the same, a hundred an' twelve pound, fourteen and six is a heap: an' as I say, we got to think over bankin' it. A man feels solid settin' here with money under his belt; an' yet between you an' me I wouldn't mind if it was less so, in a manner o' speakin'."
"Me, either."
"I was wonderin' what it would feel like to wake in the night an' tell yourself that someone was rollin' up money for you like a snowball."