'
'Hain't got no cause t' be,' he said. 'Go it while ye're young 'n full 'o
vinegar! That's what I say every time. It's the best fun there is. I
thought I'd like t' hev ye both come up t' my room, fer a minute,
'fore yer mother 'n father come back,' he said in a low tone that was
almost a whisper.
Then he shut one eye, suggestively, and beckoned with his head, as
we followed him up the stairway to the little room in which he
slept. He knelt by the bed and pulled out the old skin-covered
trunk that David Brower had given him soon after we came. He
felt a moment for the keyhole, his hand trembling, and then I
helped him open the trunk. From under that sacred suit of
broadcloth, worn only on the grandest occasions, he fetched a
bundle about the size of a man's head. It was tied in a big red
handkerchief. We were both sitting on the floor beside him.
'Heft it,' he whispered.
I did so and found it heavier than I expected.
'What is it?' I asked.
'Spondoolix,' he whispered.
Then he untied the bundle - a close packed hoard of bankbills with
some pieces of gold and silver at the bottom.
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