"Five hundred pounds," remarked the dealer, as they stood at the cross-roads, and it became perfectly obvious that he would have to reintroduce the subject himself or leave it as it was. "It's a gigantic sum. Consider what you could do with it, my dear young fellow. You could take a farm, get married, put up for the village council here and doubtless become a churchwarden. The fact is, I overbid myself, and I'm beginning to repent."
"Well, good-night, then," said Clay.
"Stop a bit," urged Mr. Lester. "I did it and I don't go back on my word."
"It isn't fifteen shillings each, and that seems to be the value of these old Queen Elizabeth sixpences," remarked Clay stolidly.
"Don't mind my saying so, my good chap, but you don't know the first thing you're talking about," replied Mr. Lester with some warmth, and it was not the least part of his annoyance that while Clay certainly did not know what he was talking about, it was quite impossible to correct him without the risk of putting him on the track of something even more dangerous. "One article may be worth a price, but if you go and turn two thousand of them on the market, they become unsaleable."
"There's something in that," admitted Clay. "I've seen it with sheep."
"Very well then, be reasonable. Is it a deal?"
"I'll think about it."
That was the utmost that could be got from the unsatisfactory young man, and they parted on the understanding that the dealer should come again on the following day for a definite answer.
Mr. Lester spent a tedious evening at the Railway Inn, and, as it rained, an even duller day. Shortly after six he reached One Tree Cottage again, determined to clinch the bargain by the concession of another hundred.
