“Why do I want money——?” he began, his voice rising with silly, sweet, half-theatrical boyish passion; then he checked himself and shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, nothing,” he said.
Red looked at the sea.
“It’s too dark to scoon stones,” he remarked. “How many times can you make one hop? I made one go nine times once in smooth water,” he added modestly.
Hal vouchsafed no answer, and Red sat down again on a bank of seaweed.
“Here’s Win,” he said softly as he fumbled in his ragged clothes and brought out the kitten, now quite dry but very sleepy, and hugged it up to his neck.
“If we had money wouldn’t we eat a lot and be happy?” He squeezed the kitten a little harder and the unhappy animal squealed sleepily. Red laughed. “Yes,” he said, “I think so, too.”
There was silence for a few minutes save for the gentle lapping of the water and the scrape of moving pebbles as the waves rolled them up and down on the shore.
“Money’s very useful, isn’t it?” said Red at last.
“Ay,” Hal replied fervently.
“Master Gilbot said that, too,” went on the child as he pitched a stone and waited to hear the gentle “plop” which it made as it reached the water.