He must be--er--why, boys, he's no child," broke off the man suddenly.

"Walter himself died seventeen or eighteen years ago, not more than a year or two after he was married.

That child must be somewhere around eighteen years old!" "And only think how Cyril WAS worrying about those tin carts," laughed Bertram.

"Never mind--eight or eighteen--let him come.

If he's that age, he won't bother much." "And this--er--'Spunk'; do you take him, too?
But probably he doesn't bother, either," murmured Cyril, with smooth sarcasm.
"Gorry! I forgot Spunk," acknowledged Bertram.