“Let me read it,” said Flick, while Tootles gazed anxiously at King O’Leary, in doubt as to the effect on his heart. Then they all sat down and looked at each other.
“Say something,” said Flick angrily, at last.
“I feel like praying,” said Tootles weakly. “I believe I’ll believe in Santa Claus.”
They examined the letter again, passing it from hand to hand, turning it over and over in a sort of stupefaction, without finding a flaw. Even the draft was at sight on a New York bank.
“King,” said Flick reverently, “never let me hear you curse Christmas again.”
“Never again.” He gazed at the check overwhelmed. “My Lord, how can we ever spend that money!”
“Art and Literature will help you,” said Tootles cheerfully.
The problem was a terrific one. They all sat down to think again.
“Boys, we’ve brought each other luck,” said King O’Leary, with a sudden glow. “Here’s my proposition: If you like me as I like you, I’ll move my old tune-box in to-night and pay a year’s rent.”
Flick and Tootles first shook his hand with emotion, giving him, so to speak, the accolade, and then protested.