“Bring up them pearls!”
Cleary turned, and, leaning with his back against the rail, began to fill an old pipe in a languid and leisurely manner. Then, when the pearls were produced, he turned them from the matchbox into the palm of his hand.
“How much?” asked Cleary.
“Forty dollars,” said Satan.
“Forty which?”
“Dollars.”
“Ain’t worth forty cents.”
“Well, who’s askin’ you to deal?”
Cleary carefully poured the pearls into the matchbox, closed it, and put it in his pocket.
Satan did not seem to mind.