“One ’undred and seventy-three pun seventeen shillings an’ ten pence,” said the heir, noticing with much pleasure the effect of his announcement.
“Say it agin, Sam,” said Pilchard in awed tones.
Mr. Dodds, with a happy laugh, obliged him. “If you’ll all come down the foc’s’le,” he continued, “I’ve got a’ bundle o’ cigars an’ a drop o’ something short in my pocket.”
“Let’s ’ave a look at the money, Sam,” said Pilchard when the cigars were alight.
“Ah, let’s ’ave a look at it,” said Steve.
Mr. Dodds laughed again, and producing a small canvas-bag from his pocket, dusted the table with his big palm, and spread out a roll of banknotes and a little pile of gold and silver. It was an impressive sight, and the cook breathed so hard that one note fluttered off the table. Three men dived to recover it, while Sam, alive for the first time to the responsibilities of wealth, anxiously watched the remainder of his capital.
“There’s something for you to buy sweets with, my lad,” he said, restored to good humour as the note was replaced.
He passed over a small coin, and regarded with tolerant good-humour the extravagant manifestation of joy on the part of the youth which followed. He capered joyously for a minute or two, and then taking it to the foot of the steps, where the light was better, bit it ecstatically.
“How much is it?” inquired the wandering Steve. “You do chuck your money about, Sam.”
“On’y sixpence,” said Sam, laughing. “I expect if it ’ad been a shillin’ it ’ud ha’ turned his brain.”