There was a rapid dash of a hand across the sunlit patch, and Dick stood up, with outstretched arm and closed fist.
“Bizz—izz—izz” went the captured fly, within the tightened hand, as Jack gave his knee a delighted slap.
“At last—at last!” shouted Dick. “I’ve got it, mother, now. Do you hear, Jessie? I’ve got it.”
“Got what?” they cried.
He paused for a moment or two, turned to them with a curious look upon his face, and then said quietly—
“The fly on the wall.”
“Jessie, my darling—he’s mad,” whispered Mrs Shingle, running to him. “Oh, Dick, Dick!”
“No, mother,” he cried, “I’m not mad; and I’ve made my fortune.”
As he spoke he held his hand to the window, unclosed it, and the fly darted into the sunshine—free.
“At last!” said Dick softly. ”‘Hit a bright,’” Max said, “and—I’ve let it go.”