"O Astoreth! Fifteen talents? That is such a great weight that I should have to sit down to think of it properly."
"Sit down then."
"For a talent," said Dagon, sitting in an armchair comfortably, "a man can have twelve gold chains, or sixty beautiful milch cows, or ten slaves for labor, or one slave to play on the flute or paint, and maybe even to cure. A talent is tremendous property."
The prince's eyes flashed,
"Then Thou hast not fifteen talents?"
The terrified Phoenician slipped suddenly from the chair to the floor.
"Who in the city," cried he, "has not money at thy command, O child of the sun? It is true that I am a wretch whose gold, precious stones, and whole property is not worth one glance of thine, O prince, but if I go around among our merchants and say who sent me, I shall get fifteen talents even from beneath the earth. Erpatr, if Thou shouldst stand before a withered fig-tree and say 'Give money!' the fig-tree would pay thee a ransom. But do not look at me in that way, O son of Horus, for I feel a pain in the pit of my heart and my mind is growing blunted," finished the Phoenician, in tones of entreaty.
"Well, sit in the chair, sit in the chair," said the prince, laughing.
Dagon rose from the floor and disposed himself still more agreeably in the armchair.
"For how long a time does the prince wish fifteen talents?"