“Ah, true?” asks the customer sarcastically. “And what is that, signore?”
“Six hundred lire, signore,” replies the dealer calmly.
“Body of Bacchus!” gasps the customer, as though he had been mortally wounded. “Six hundred lire! Are you mad, signore? It is robbery! The thing is good for nothing! It would be dear at sixty lire!”
“Signore,” declares the dealer earnestly, “your words are an insult. That Pope is worthy of a museum. Look at it, signore! In the large establishments you would pay six thousand lire for it. Signore, I am experienced in the buying and selling of antiques. In selling it at six hundred lire, I am giving it away.”
The customer shakes his head pityingly. “Poor little one,” says he, “that Pope’s head is a forgery. It probably cost six lire. In buying it at all you must have fallen among thieves.”
“Signore, it is not true,” says the dealer indignantly. “It is a gift at six hundred lire.”
“Pah!” says the customer, wagging his extended thumb and forefinger at the level of his ear to signify utter contempt and disbelief.
“Then what will you give, signore?” demands the proprietor in exasperation. “Name me a fair price and let us speak about it.”
“No,” says the customer, “I do not want it. Your prices, signore, would make a cow weep.”
“Then name me a price,” insists the proprietor. “Come, name it and let me hear.”