MERCHANT. Surely a jar of olives is not to be guarded so carefully, year after year.
WIFE. That is Ali Cogia's affair, not ours. Besides, the olives can't be good after all this time.
MERCHANT (taking a plate). I mean to have a taste of them, at least.
WIFE (indignantly). You are betraying the trust your friend placed in you! I will not remain to witness it.
[She leaves the room. The Merchant crosses and takes cover from jar.]
MERCHANT (looking in jar). My wife was right—the olives are covered with mould, but those at the bottom may still be good.
[He turns the jar up and shakes out the olives. Several gold pieces fall out.]
MERCHANT. What is this? Gold pieces! As I live! Gold! gold!
[He shakes the jar again; a shower of gold pieces fall.]
MERCHANT (dropping the jar in astonishment). A thousand pieces at least! The top of the jar only was laid with olives!