“Don’t it look purty?” asked Teddy, who was stretched full upon his face, his fists placed one above the other, while his chin rested on the uppermost. “Begorra, there ain’t any thing this side of ould Ireland that would do me eyes more good. What is it worth?”
This was the question all three had been turning over in their minds for some time, and each gave the result of his conjecture.
“I kin hit it purty near,” said Teddy, who was squinting at it as though it were a target for his rifle. “I was always good at guessin’.”
“Well, what is it?” asked Black Tom.
“Five hundred and fifty-four millions, six hundred and ninety-three pounds starling, more or less.”
The Irishman was in earnest, and it was a long time before he could be made to believe that he had not gathered in more than five thousand dollars.
“It’ll foot up that, any way,” said old Stebbins; “and if we kin keep that up for a few days, it’ll answer.”
“You’re sartin thar’s plenty more thar?” asked Black Tom, looking toward the Irishman.
“Sartin!” he exclaimed, in amazement; “it’s all over! There’s tons of it; there’s enough to make mesilf, and all me grandfathers and grandmothers, as rich as Queen Victoria, away back to the latest ginerations of posterity.”
“You’re crazy over it,” replied Tom; “thar ain’t half what you say thar is.”