“Depends,” said Bartle with a knowing nod. “What’s it about? If you want to tell ’em price of flour, I don’t mind.”
“I only want you to say one word to either of them.”
“Come, that’s jolly! What’s the word?”
“Remember!”
Bartle scratched his head. “Remember what? There’s the rub!”
“Leave that to them,” said Mr Ewring.
“Well,—I—don’t—know,” said Bartle very slowly. “Mayhap I sha’n’t remember.”
“Mayhap that shall help you,” replied the miller, holding up an angelet, namely, a gold coin, value 3 shillings 4 pence—the smallest gold coin then made.
“Shouldn’t wonder if that strengthened my wits,” said Bartle with a grin, as the little piece of gold was slipped through the wicket. “That’s over a penny a letter, bain’t it?”
“Fivepence. It’s good pay.”