“The florin——”
“The florin! You understand?”
“That you didn’t get it——”
“That you didn’t get it honestly. That’s it,” said Franz, sticking another mint-drop into his mouth, perhaps to brace himself up.
It was out at last. Poor, miserable Walter.
“And on that account, Walter, we would rather not keep the money, but just divide now—equally, as we all agreed.”
“Yes,” cried Gustave, “divide equally. The work—we—you understand?”
They divided the profits. And the Hallemans were sleek about it. Twenty-four stivers; three into twenty-four goes eight times, therefore——
Walter received eight stivers.
“Don’t you see,” explained Gustave, “we couldn’t do it, because our papa is a deacon.”