He handed the gipsy a stool.
“Now, then,” said Peace—“what is there to be surprised at?”
“What? Why you look for all the world as if you were the most hardworking, industrious tradesman as ever was, working away for dear life. You’d deceive the devil—that’s what you’d do—with ease, and think nothing of it.”
“Ah, I dare say—that’s all very well; but I should find it difficult to deceive you, old man; but stow your chaff.”
“Well, how did you get on at Manchester?” said Bill.
“Oh, as right as the mail. Got rid of them all, and nobody any the wiser.”
“My word! but that’s clever—turned them into ready cash, eh?”
Peace nodded. He drew from his pocket some notes, which he handed to the gipsy.
“Finnips!” cried the latter.
“Well—what of that? They are right enough; but if you want some gold, here you are.”