‘As 16 to 1.5, so 42,’ quoth Paul quickly. ‘Three halves into 42; 21 and 42 is 63; 63 by 16, gives 3 and fifteen-sixteenths. You can’t deduct a sixteenth of a penny, so call it fourpence.’
Ellen and Alfred were as wise as to the working as they were before.
Next question—Paul’s answer came like the next line in the book—Mrs. King proved him right, and so on till she was quite tired of the proofs, and began to trust him. Alfred asked how he could possibly do such things, which seemed to him a perfect riddle.
‘I should have had my ears pretty nigh pulled off if I took five minutes to work that in my head,’ said Paul. ‘But I’ve forgotten things now; I could do it faster once.’
‘I’m sure you hadn’t need,’ said Mrs. King; ‘it’s enough to distract one’s senses to count so fast. All in your poor head too!’
‘And I’ve got to write them all out to-morrow,’ said Ellen dismally; ‘I must wait till dark, or I shan’t set a stitch of work. I wish people would pay ready money, and then one wouldn’t have to set down their bills. Here’s Mr. Cope, bread—bread—bread, as long as my arm!’
‘If you didn’t mind, maybe I could save you the trouble, Miss Ellen,’ said Paul.
‘Did you ever make out a bill?’ asked Mrs. King.
‘Never a real one; but every Thursday I used to do sham ones. Once I did a jeweller’s bill for twelve thousand pounds and odd! It is so long since I touched a pen, that may be I can’t write; but I should like to try.’
Ellen brought a pen, and the cover of a letter; and hobbling up to the table, he took the pen, cleared it of a hair that was sticking in it, made a scratch or two weakly and ineffectually, then wrote in a neat clear hand, without running up or down, ‘Friarswood, Christmas.’