There was a loud responsive shout of "I!" and a dozen hands were at once stretched towards the speaker. Business commenced, and sixpences, shillings, and half-crowns were pouring into Tom's pockets faster than he could cram them there. He was making a very good morning's work of it. Presently, a dull, heavy-looking boy joined the group.
"Hullo, Flopper!" cried Tom, addressing this last arrival, "why don't you put that ten bob your Uncle sent you into this thing? I'll be bound he told you to turn it over. You won't get such a chance every day."
"What is it?" asked Flopper.
A chorus of voices instantly joined in a brief explanation of the advantages of investing in "Old Mother Noggins' Limited."
"By Jove!" said Flopper, "I don't know that I won't."
"Not if I know it," cried an authoritative voice, breaking in upon the scene. It was Snagsby, the "Sharper" who spoke. There was a general look in his direction, and a disposition to make way for him as he approached. He had been mixed up disadvantageously in a recent "corner" in marbles, and had from time to time floated several concerns that had never paid any dividends, and was generally regarded as a "queer" customer in consequence. It was for this reason that he had been nicknamed the "Sharper."
"And what do you want him to do with his money?" asked Tom, stepping forward in a defiant attitude.
"He'll put every blessed halfpenny of it into my 'General Pen-knife Supply,'" was the laconic reply. "He signed for the allotment last night."
"But I've changed my mind," pleaded Flopper, helplessly, and he handed the half-sovereign to Tom.
"You give that up!" cried the Sharper, menacingly.