“That is not fair; I've got the refusal.”
“The deuce you have!”
“Yes, I've gone into it with you; and the others wouldn't listen. Said so yourself.”
“Well, but, Mr. Bolt, are you really in earnest? Surely this is quite out of your line?”
“How can it be out of my line if it pays? I've bought and sold sheep, and wool, and land, and water, and houses, and tents, and old clothes, and coffee, and tobacco, and cabs. And swopped—my eye, how I have swopped! I've swopped a housemaid under articles for a pew in the church, and a milch cow for a whale that wasn't even killed yet; I paid for the chance. I'm at all in the ring, and devilish bad to beat. Here goes—high, low, Jack, and the game.”
“Did you ever deal in small beer?” asked Henry, satirically.
“No,” said Bolt, innocently. “But I would in a minute if I saw clear to the nimble shilling. Well, will you come on to Hillsborough and settle this? I've got the refusal for twenty-four hours, I consider.”
“Oh, if you think so, I will go on to Hillsborough. But you said you were going to see your parents, after twenty years' absence and silence.”
“So I am; but they can keep; what signifies a day or two more after twenty years?” He added, rather severely, as one whose superior age entitled him to play the monitor, “Young man, I never make a toil of a pleasure.”
“No more do I. But how does that apply to visiting your parents?”