Yet even then there followed no shock of round-shot battering at masonry, but only an access of the stormy whistling and jingling.
"Copper cash," declared the voice of Heywood, in a lull.

By the sound, he was standing on the rungs of the ladder, with his head at the level of the platform; also by the sound, he was enjoying himself inordinately.

"What a jolly good piece of luck! Scrap metal and copper cash.

Firing money at us--like you, Captain.

Just what we thought, too.
Some unruly gang among them wouldn't wait, and forced matters.