"Yes, sir," said he, and began his hand-washing.
"You'll die a rich man, William."
"No, sir. This particular coincidence made me the poorer by, I should say," suspending his washing to calculate, "some five shillings."
"The devil it did! How was that?"
"Your honour's clothes that you left behind, sir, when you were transmuted, as my lord would say, were stolen."
"And you value them at five shillings! I ought to crack your head for you."
"Yes, sir. Cast-offs sells very cheap, sir. But the coincidence, sir! I've not really come to that yet."
"Go on, William! You interest me deeply."
"I found them, sir, at the bottom of the garden, torn to rags, sir!"
"And sold 'em for fivepence! Eh, thrifty William?"