"And how much have you got?"
Paul put his delicate hands together.
"So much full, three, four, five times."
Tom emitted a low whistle. "Oh, golly, that's up to chalk, and you're sartin the tavern keepers and captains gave you silver money for it?"
"Sure I saw."
"And Jube will shell out—no mistake about that, ha?"
"Jube what?"
"'ll hand over," persisted Tom, counting imaginary gold into his palm.
"What, give the money?"
"Yes; chink!"