"Good-morning, Nanjivell!" said Mr Pamphlett.
"'Mornin', sir."
"Another plea, I suppose?—when you had my word on Saturday that I'd done with you."
"'Tain't that."
"Then what is it? . . . For I hardly suppose 'tis to pay up—rent and arrears."
"One—two—three—four—five—six—seven!" Nicky-Nan dived in his pocket for the fistful of coins, picked them out carefully, and laid them one by one on the table. "I'll take the change an' a receipt, if you please."
"How came you by this money?" asked the Bank Manager, after a pause, staring at the gold.
"What the hell is that to you?" demanded Nicky-Nan.
For a moment Mr Pamphlett made no reply. Then he leaned forward and picked up one of the coins.
"I asked," he said, "because one of these happens to be a guinea-piece—a spade guinea, and scarcely worn at all."