“I would rather you would see them before I set a price,” I returned. “I am afraid some of the bags are pretty wet.”
“I don’t want wet bags. How did it happen?”
I related what had occurred. By the time I had finished we had reached the wharf.
“My! my!” exclaimed the flour-dealer. “Mr. Markham! I know him. He is one of the richest men at the Grand. So he said you could have the boat. She is worth a couple of hundred dollars.”
“Yes, and a hundred added. He is more than generous.”
“He can afford it, I suppose.”
“Here are the bags,” I went on. “Ten of them are dry.”
“Those I’ll give you regular price for,—dollar and a half.” Mr. Carnet examined the others. “Suppose we make the six a dollar each?”
“Can’t you make it a dollar and a quarter?”