ing keeping your fingers off the spoons. You pain me. Desist."
"Sorry, boss. But dey'll be willy-wonders, dem jools. A hundred t'ousand plunks. Dat's goin' some, ain't it? What's dat dis side?"
"Twenty thousand pounds."
"Gee! … Can I help youse wit' de duds, boss?"
"No, thanks, Spike, I'm through now. You might just give me a brush down, though. No, not that. That's a hair-brush. Try the big black one."
"Dis is a boid of a dude suit," observed Spike, pausing in his labors.
"Glad you like it, Spike. Rather chic, I think."
"It's de limit. Excuse me. How much did it set youse back, boss?"
"Something like seven guineas, I believe. I could look up the bill, and let you know."
"What's dat—guineas? Is dat more dan a pound?"
"A shilling more. Why these higher mathematics?"
Spike resumed his brushing.
"What a lot of dude suits youse could git," he observed meditatively, "if youse had dem jools!" He became suddenly animated. He waved the clothes-brush. "Oh, you boss!" he cried. "What's eatin' youse? Aw, it's a shame not to. Come along, you boss! Say, what's doin'? Why ain't youse sittin' in at de game? Oh, you boss!"