“Conscience! conscience! You’ll never be rich in the world, for you have too much conscience. Do you suppose the Wall Street magnates could have become millionaires if they had permitted their conscience to worry them over little points?”
“I fancy not,” acknowledged Merry, shaking his head. “I am certain I shall never become wealthy in just the same manner that certain millionaires acquired their wealth. I’d rather remain poor. Such an argument does not touch me, Hodge.”
“Oh, I suppose not! But it’s a shame for you to be such a chump! Just think what you could do with forty-three thousand dollars! You could give up this show business, you could go back to Yale and finish your course in style. You could be the king-bee of them all. Oh, it’s a shame!”
“Haow much’ll yeou hev arter yeou divide?” asked Ephraim.
“The division will give the five of us eight thousand seven hundred and forty-six dollars and eighty cents each,” answered Frank.
“He’s figured that up so quick!” muttered Hodge.
“I snum! eight thaousan’ dollars ain’t to be sneezed at!” cried the Vermonter.
“It’s a pinch beside forty-three thousand,” said Bart.
“Yeou oughter be able to go back to college on that, Frank.”
“He can, if he’ll drop the show business,” nodded Bart.