"One of the 'old masters,' eh?" chuckled Bodley.
"Perhaps. I do not think you will care to pay my price, sir," said the storekeeper, with dignity.
"I've got a customer for it. He seen it down to the dance—and he wants it. What's your price?" repeated Bodley.
"I thought some of sending it to New York to be valued," Hopewell said slowly.
"My man will buy it—sight unseen, as ye might say—on my recommend.
He only saw it for a moment," said Bodley.
"What will he give for it?" asked Hopewell.
"How much do you want?"
"One hundred dollars, Mr. Bodley," said the storekeeper, this time with more firmness.
"What? One hundred of your grandmother's grunts! Why, Hopewell, there ain't so much money—not in Polktown, at least—'nless it's hid away in a broken teapot on the top shelf of a cupboard in Elder Concannon's house. They say he's got the first dollar he ever earned, and most all that he's gathered since that time."
Janice heard all this as she stood in the back room with 'Rill. Then, having excused herself to the storekeeper's wife, she ran out of the side door to go across the street to Mrs. Beaseley's.