Bill stirred in his sleep and muttered. Ruth bent over him and kissed the honourable scratch on his cheek.
“Poor little chap! You’ll wake up and find that you aren’t a millionaire baby after all! I wonder if you’ll mind. Kirk, do you mind?”
“Mind!”
“I don’t,” said Ruth. “I think it will be rather fun being poor again.”
“Who’s poor?” said Kirk stoutly. “I’m not. I’ve got you and I’ve got Bill. Do you remember—ages ago—what that Vince girl, the model, you know, said that her friend had called me? A plute. That’s me. I’m the richest man in the world.”