“It ain’t a sixpence,” said the boy indignantly. “‘It’s ’arf a suvrin’.”
“’Arf a wot?” exclaimed Mr. Dodds with a sudden change of manner.
“’Arf a suvrin’,” repeated the boy with nervous rapidity; “and thank you very much, Sam, for your generosity. If everybody was like you we should all be the better for it. The world ’ud be a different place to live in,” concluded the youthful philosopher.
Mr. Dodd’s face under these fulsome praises was a study in conflicting emotions. “Well, don’t waste it,” he said at length, and hastily gathering up the remainder stowed it in the bag.
“What are you going to do with it all, Sam?” inquired Harry.
“I ain’t made up my mind yet,” said Mr. Dodds deliberately. “I ’ave thought of ’ouse property.”
“I don’t mean that,” said the other. “I mean wot are you going to do with it now, to take care of it?”
“Why, keep it in my pocket,” said Sam, staring.
“Well, if I was you,” said Harry impressively, “I should ask the skipper to take care of it for me. You know wot you are when you’re a bit on, Sam.”
“Wot d’yer mean?” demanded Mr. Dodds hotly.