“Da locum melioribus, Alfred, as the poet has it. Do you know where to find that, my boy?—the first line of the thirteenth book of the Æneid, being a speech of the son of Anchises to the Queen of Carthage. You'll find a copy of Virgil's works in my desk.”
“I don't mean to look,” said Alfred, “I know it's in the Delectus.”
“Wonderful memory!—I admire that delectable book of yours,” cried Frank, who talked on without stopping, while forcing himself to the first rank. “How now, Maister Dunn!” he said, addressing the old man, “I hope you b'aint a going to treat us as e did last time. You must be reasonable; the money market is in a sadly unflourishing condition at present.”
“You always talk of the money market, Frank,” said little Alfred: “what do you mean by the money market?”
“It's a place, my dear—I'll explain it in a moment. Here, Maister Dunn;—It's a place where the old women sell sovereigns a penny a measure, Alfred.”
“Oh, Frank!” exclaimed Alfred.
“Oh! and why not?” said Frank; “do you mean to say you don't believe me? That's it,—isn't it, maister?”
“Ah, Maister Digby! ye're at yer jokes,” said the old man.
“Jokes!” said Frank, with a serious air. “Pray, Mr. Dunn, did you ever happen to notice certain brass, or copper, or bronze tables, four in number, in front of the Bristol Exchange!”
“Ay sure, maister!”