"I want to sell them until next Saturday night," returned Zeke.
"How much are you going to get for them?"
"I want five shillings, but Jeems allows that he can't give more than two and a half."
"They are worth two pounds if they are worth anything," said O'Brien emphatically.
"I know they are. Just see that knife. It is sharp——"
"Pick up your tools and come with me," interrupted O'Brien.
"Where are you going?"
"Pick up your tools and come with me," insisted O'Brien. "I don't want to tell you twice."
Zeke smiled, drew himself up to his full height and looked at O'Brien. The latter returned his gaze with interest and Zeke finally thought better of it, gathered up his tools from the step where had placed them and followed him out to the gate.
"Look here," said O'Brien, when they reached the street. "The next time you want to sell your tools that you make a living with, I want you to come to me. Don't go to that old Tory, who is bound to cheat you out of everything you have. You say your wife has not had anything to eat?"