been upon his lips—"cared to take the trouble he could be a millionaire before he died."
"I'm glad he doesn't," laughed Edward. "I hate millionaires."
Betty was with them. They were returning home from a walk upon the moors. Edward had clamoured for wind. According to him you wouldn't get it in Oxford. It was twilight, and they had reached the point where Millsborough lay stretched out before them.
"It depends upon what use you make of it," Betty chimed in. "Money is a weapon. You can use it for conquering, winning more and more for yourself; or you can use it for freeing the chained, protecting the weak, fighting for the oppressed."
"Oh, yes; I know the theory," replied Edward. "Robin Hood. You take it from the rich and give it to the poor. But Robin Hood must first feast with his followers; that's only fair. And must put by a bit for a rainy day; that's only common prudence. And then Little John puts in his claims, and dear old Friar Tuck. Mustn't forget Friar Tuck or the blessing of God won't be with us next time. And Maid Marion must have a new kirtle and a ribbon or two to tie up her bonny brown hair. And one or two things Robin wants for himself.
