“The whole work costs seven pounds, ten shillings. We’re not asking you for that amount, we’re asking for five shillings a month. The way to look at it is that you’re going to pay tuppence a day to help your children and yourselves.”
“Seven palms ten!” Mr Thomas gasped. “Not bloody likely! Not for me, chum. No, I can’t afford that.” He picked up the specimen and handed it to George. “Thank yer for calling, mister, but it ain’t no good.”
The two children immediately began an uproar, and Mrs Thomas had to drive them from the room. The small house echoed with their disappointed yells, and George became slightly flustered.
“Now, one moment, Mr Thomas,” he began hurriedly, realizing that he had struck the worst kind of prospect—the man who can’t afford it. “You’ve agreed the books are good and…
“The hooks’re orl right, but the price ain’t,” Mr Thomas said, a stubborn light in his eyes. “It’s no use arguing. I can’t afford it, so that’s that.”
George stared at him helplessly, aware that Brant was watching him with a sneering grin.
“Of course you can afford it,” George said warmly. “You mean you can’t afford to be without it. Tuppence a day! Why, anyone can afford that.”
“Well, I can’t, and I don’t want a lot of talk,” Mr Thomas said irritably. “I’ve got to get back to my garden.”
“Just a moment,” Brant said quietly. “I can prove you can afford to pay tuppence a day for these hooks.”
Both Mr Thomas and George turned and stared at him He was eyeing them with a hard, calculating expression in his eyes. Before they could speak he went on, “You’re a sporting man, Mr Thomas. I bet you half a dollar you can afford to pay tuppence a day. If I prove to your satisfaction that you wouldn’t miss this small sum, will you buy the books?”