“Why, what’s all that money?” inquired the Barber boy, when he came into the tower an hour later.
“This little heap,” replied Tom, placing in Bill’s lap a pile of banknotes, “is yours.”
“Mine?” exclaimed Bill in a gasp, staring at the money in wonder.
“Yours—one hundred dollars! It is your share of a testimonial given us by the passengers and crew of the Olivia,” and Tom explained the incident of his interview with the steamer captain at the Brookville hotel.
A pathetic look came into Bill Barber’s eyes. He looked at the money and gasped. He glanced up at Tom and his lips twitched.
“One hundred dollars!” he said slowly, impressively; “a whole one hundred dollars, and mine! I can get a new suit—why, Tom, I can buy a bulldog now, a real bulldog. Oh, crackey!”
Bill looked again at Tom. His tone changed, a queer longing expression came into his face. His voice broke.
“Tom Barnes,” he said huskily, “it’s a heap of a fortune to me, but, more than the money is what you said to-night—that I was pure gold, that I was—was every inch a man! Tom, it’s too much—oh, it, it’s all come on me like a burst of glory!”
And Bill Barber broke down utterly, and bawled like a baby.