"Forty shillin' you paid for 'un, up to Lunnon," said he, "forty shillin' it were, I think?"
"Forty shillings!" said I.
"Ecod, it's a sight o' money! But it's a grand weskit—ah, that it is!"
"So you believe me now, do you?" said I, pocketing the ten shillings.
"Well," he answered slowly, "I won't go so fur as that, but 'tis a mighty fine weskit theer's no denyin', an' must ha' cost a sight o' money—a powerful sight!" I picked up my knapsack and, slipping it on, took my staff, and turned to depart. "Theer's a mug o' homebrewed, an' a slice o' fine roast beef up at th' 'ouse, if you should be so inclined—"
"Why, as to that," said I, over my shoulder, "I neither eat nor drink with a man who doubts my word."
"Meanin' those forty shillin'?"
"Precisely!"
"Well," said he, twisting his whisker with a thoughtful air, "if you could manage to mak' it twenty—or even twenty-five, I might mak' some shift to believe it—though 'twould be a strain, but forty!—no, damme, I can't swaller that!"
"Then, neither can I swallow your beef and ale," said I.