"But I'd wish to oblige you and make a new customer, who'd no doubt recommend me to his friends. Would three shillings be nearer your prize? Well, then," as the little boy shook his head, "say half-a-crown? Half-a-crown for a pure-bred Angora rabbit, why, it's absurd; nevertheless, you shall have that little one for half-a-crown. What do you say?"
Tim reflected. He was a shrewd boy, and it struck him that Mr. Dottin had lowered his price very quickly. He also remembered that Kitty had said she had given a shilling for the rabbit he had killed, so, though half-a-crown was the exact amount of money he had in his pocket, he determined to try to get what he wanted for less.
"I'll give you eighteen-pence for that little rabbit, it's the smallest of the lot, I see," he said. "I don't believe it's worth more."
"Not worth more. Eighteen-pence for a pure-bred Angora! Why, you can't know what you're talking about, young gentleman!" Mr. Dottin cried, in shrill accents of protestation.
"Oh, yes I do," Tim returned, confidently. "I price the rabbit at eighteen-pence."
"And I price it at half-a-crown," the old man retorted. "Stop, stop," he proceeded, as Tim again moved toward the door. "You are too impetuous, sir, too impetuous by half. I'll tell you how we'll settle the matter, we'll split the difference."
"Split the difference?" echoed Tim doubtfully. "I don't understand. You mean—"
"That you shall have the rabbit for two shillings—ready money, of course. You price the rabbit at eighteen-pence, I price it at half-a-crown. Eighteen-pence from a half-a-crown leaves a shilling—split that shilling and the price of the rabbit is two shillings. See? There now, that's fair, isn't it?"
"Yes, I think it is," Tim answered, smiling. "I'll give you two shillings for the rabbit."
"You've a business head on your shoulders. I perceive," observed Mr. Dottin, as he proceeded to open the hutch, "and I like you the better for it. Have you anything to put the rabbit in?"