“That's the tune of it—and not much of a tune, either. My God! If I'd only had that thousand of mine by me, or even half of it, I'd have made a pile!”
“Fifty pounds for twenty!” cried Steelman excitedly. “Why, that's grand! And to think we chaps have been grafting like niggers all our lives! By God, we'll stand in with you for all we've got!”
“There's my hand on it,” as they reached the hotel.
“If you come to my room I'll give you the 25 Pounds now, if you like.”
“Oh, that's all right,” exclaimed Steelman impulsively; “you mustn't think I don't——”
“That's all right. Don't you say any more about it. You'd best have the stuff to-night to show your mate.”
“Perhaps so; he's a suspicious fool, but I made a bargain with him about our last cheque. He can hang on to the stuff, and I can't. If I'd been on my own I'd have blued it a week ago. Tell you what I'll do—we'll call our share (Smith's and mine) twenty quid. You take the odd fiver for your trouble.”
“That looks fair enough. We'll call it twenty guineas to you and your mate. We'll want him, you know.”
In his own and Smith's room Steelman thoughtfully counted twenty-one sovereigns on the toilet-table cover, and left them there in a pile.
He stretched himself, scratched behind his ear, and blinked at the money abstractedly. Then he asked, as if the thought just occurred to him: “By the way, Smith, do you see those yellow boys?”