“What is it all about, Phil?” asked Dave. “Hit your funny-bone?”
“Money, boys, money! That’s what it is about,” replied the shipowner’s son. “I’ve got five thousand dollars, all my own!”
“Five thousand dollars!” gasped Buster.
“All your own?” queried Gus Plum.
“Where did you get it?” asked another.
“Why, it’s this way,” answered Phil, when he 116 could calm down a little. “About two years ago a great-uncle of mine died, leaving considerable money. He was interested in various enterprises and his death brought on legal complications and some litigation. He left his money to a lot of heirs, including myself. My father and I never thought we’d get anything—thought the lawyers and courts would swallow it all. But now it seems that it has been settled, and yours truly gets five thousand dollars in cash.”
“When do you get it, Phil, right away?” asked Buster.
“Well,—er—I, of course, don’t get it until I am of age. It’s to go in the bank.”
“Oh!”
“Won’t you get any of it until then?” asked Shadow. “Your dad might let you have a little, just to celebrate––”