“Precious little. Eh? Oh, I see; you think I want to plant a few. Not likely. If you wanted a hundred, I couldn’t get them for you.”
“No, they never are to be had.”
“Chaff away. I don’t care. You know it’s a good thing, or else our governor wouldn’t have put his name to it and set so much money as he has.”
“To come up and bear a good crop, eh? There, I won’t chaff about it, Jessop, boy. I know it’s a good thing, and you ought to make a rare swag out of it.”
“So that you could too, eh?”
“Of course; so that we could both make a good thing out of it. One is not above making a few thou’s, I can tell you. Lead, isn’t it?”
“Yes, solid lead. None of your confounded flashy gold-mines.”
“But they sound well with the public, Jessop. Gold—gold—gold. The public is not a Bassanio, to choose the lead casket.”
“It was a trump ace, though, my boy.”
“So it was. But you are only to get a little commission out of sales over this, eh?”