“By my conscience, then, it's more than you deserve, Abel; for you've very often nearly made me cry,” said Dalton, with a little sigh over the past, as he recalled it to his memory.
The Jew did not either heed or hear the remark; for, having put away the remnant of his frugal breakfast, he now began a very intricate series of calculations respecting interest and exchange and commission, at which poor Dalton gazed in a most complete mystification.
“Fourteen hundred and sixty-three, at ten three-eighths,—less cost of commission; I will not charge you the one per cent—”
“Charge all that's fair, and no favor, old boy.”
“I mean that I will not treat the Herr von Dalton like a stranger——”
“I was going to say, treat me like a Christian,” said Dalton, laughing; “but maybe that's the most expensive thing going.”
“Always droll,—always have his jest,” cackled Abel. “Now there's an agio on gold, you pay five kreutzers for every Louis.”
“By George! I 'll take a ship-load of them at the same price.”
“Ha! U mean you pay that over the value,” said the Jew.
“Faix! I often promised to pay more,” said Dalton, sighing; “and what's worse, on stamped paper too!”