finish you, you're so darned cheeky. As though I'd trust you with any of my money!" No doubt about it, there was a thrill in "my money"!
Wake successfully assumed the expression of his aunt when displeased. "I hope," he reproved, with his upper lip lengthened, "that you're not going to be close-fisted the moment you get rich."
"For goodness' sake!" shouted Finch, "have a heart! I'm not rich! How much money do you suppose I've got? Ninety-eight cents—that's what. And I'm invited to spend a week with Arthur Leigh!"
Wake looked pleased. "That's nice, isn't it? Because when you're visiting a rich fellow like that you'll not need any money. You might just as well leave the ninety-eight cents with me. It'd pay my salary for nearly a month."
"If I was some brothers," declared Finch, "I'd give you a good hiding and send you downstairs. I suppose you'd tell, though."
Wake shook his head firmly. "No, I shouldn't. I'd bear the pain with all the fortitude I could muster."
Finch groaned. "Gosh—the language you use! It's awful to hear a small boy talking like an old gentleman of seventy. That's what comes of having no other kids to play with."
Wake's luminous eyes darkened; he played his never-failing trump card. "No—no, Finch, I don't think it's that. . . . I think it's because I'm pretty sure I'll never live to be seventy—or p'r'aps even grow up. I want to use all the language I can in the short while I'm here."
"Rot!" But it was too bad to be rough with the poor little fellow. . . . When he got his money he'd do something nice for Wake!
He got up, undressed, changed his mind about reading, and was just going to put out the light when Wakefield said, in a cajoling tone: "I say, Finch, aren't you going to do—you know what?"
"No, I don't."
"Oh yes, you do!" His smile was sly. "Shut the door first."
Finch, about to blow out the candle, growled:
