As it moved, he worked his fingers underneath it, and raised it up on its edge.
He said not one word, but lifted it up, and held it before the eyes of the “B. O. W. C.”
And as they looked at it they were struck dumb, and stood paralyzed with amazement and disgust.
For there, in Bruce’s hands, held up to the light of day, the iron lid of the iron money-chest, that coffer lid that concealed so much treasure, buried long ago by the fugitive Frenchman, to be exhumed by their fortunate hands,—that iron lid which had been the source of so much excitement and hope, had resolved itself into nothing better than a rusty old ploughshare!
Again holding it till he was tired, Bruce handed it solemnly to Bart.
“Here, Bart,” said he, “I’ll give all my share to you.”
“And I present all that you give me and all my own to Tom,” said Bart, taking it and passing it on to Tom.
Tom took it and handed it to Arthur.
“I make it over to you, Arthur,” said he.
“And I make it over to Phil,” said Arthur.