"Well," replied Bob, "I thought it was. You said it would make my hair curl. How much did it make, whatever it was?"
A glow of pleasure spread over Gordon's sad countenance. Making money was something even in despair.
"My boy, I bought you Amalekites at half a crown, five hundred and sixty of 'em, and now they're at £4."
"Dear me," said Bob, "how much does that make? Why, it's £2,240."
"Less commission," agreed the financier.
"By Jove, that's a very, very good beginning," said Bob. "Do you think they will go up more, Mr. Gordon?"
Gordon looked at him and sighed.
"They might. But don't you think it would be safer to get out now, Bob?"
Bob shook his head.
"I'll follow your advice, sir, of course. If it was only myself, I'd take the money, but I'm thinking of Goring, when my father and grandfather and uncle die. What I want is fifty thousand, at least. Grandfather often says that is the least that can put the house on its legs again. Let me see, £2,240 is eight times four times £90. That's thirty-two times £90. What's thirty-two times £2,240?"