Very grandly Bob drew out a folding pocketbook and placed it open on the table. Elastic bands held a little heap of new green banknotes on either flap.
“Four hundred dollars,” announced Bob, with an expansive chuckle and a grin.
“Where did you get it,” stammered Ben.
“Your whistle.”
“You’re joking, Bob.”
“Not at all. There it is, the benefits of your little invention—four hundred dollars, half yours.”
CHAPTER V
FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS
Ben stared in a stupefied way at the money, then at the smiling face of his friend, and then at his mother.
“You’re joking, Bob,” he said.