“I will—with the weight of nine hundred pounds!” said Bob—and did so.
“Get off, you bloated capitalist,” said Wally, struggling. He succeeded in dislodging him, with a mighty effort. “You're just purse-proud, that's what's the matter with you. What'll you do with it, Bobby—go racing? Or buy an aeroplane?”
“Get out of debt,” said Bob, sitting up with rumpled hair and a face like a happy child's. “And there'll be a bit over to play with. What shall we put it into, Tommy? Want any pretty things?”
“Just merino sheep,” said Tommy.
THE END