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 than taking it to the foot of the steps, where the light was better, bit it ecstatically.
“How much is it?” inquired the wondering 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.”
“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.