“I don’t know what to say, sir,” cried the lad, whose lip was working with emotion. “You are not playing with me?”
“Playing, my lad! I never was in more sober earnest in my life,” said Mr Temple. “There, I see you agree, and I congratulate you on your success, for it will be a most successful venture—of that I am sure.”
“So do I, Will,” cried Dick, with his eyes sparkling. “I am glad. Hooray!”
Arthur hesitated. For the last few minutes a feeling of resentment and jealousy had been rising in his breast at the idea of this fisher lad winning to such a successful position and being placed on a level with him and his brother; but he crushed the feeling down, triumphed over it, came forward holding out his hand, and offered his congratulations too. “I am glad, Will Marion,” he said, and his words were true and earnest; but in spite of himself the thought would come, “I hope he won’t always dress like that.”
“Then that matter’s settled,” said Mr Temple. “Everything necessary has been done. The land is mine, and my solicitor has all the papers. Mr Will Marion, I too congratulate you on being a mine owner and on the road to fortune.”
“But look here, father,” cried Dick suddenly, “what’s the good of your white stone? You can’t make tin pots and copper kettles of it.”
“No,” said Mr Temple smiling; “but don’t you know what that stone and the clay beneath it will make?”
“Yes,” cried Dick, “of course. Houses of brick made of the clay with white stone facings.”
“What do you say, Arthur?” said Mr Temple; but Arthur shook his head.
“Can you tell, Marion?” said Mr Temple.