“Why what?”
“That makes sixpence. We didn’t give her sixpence. You’re trying to swindle me, Redbury, because my wits are slower than yours....”
“When are the wits of the Gentile not slower than ours?” laughed David. “The Gentile must pay.”
“Don’t forget that this is only half a Gentile. Where were we? Let’s begin all over again. You owe me two and twopence for ice-cream sodas and a bit of waitress: that clear?”
“Hang on to it. Then you owe me half-a-crown, and twopence for fares, and twopence for a bit of waitress, and fourpence more.”
“It’s that fourpence always cropping up. I don’t see where it comes from.”
“You took it from my half-crown to pay the waitress.”
Richard looked so worried that David burst out laughing.
“‘Shylock, shall we have moneys?’ Come on, don’t give in; this is rather sport.”