“Then you give back the horse, see?” Bright Tooth cried.
“I don’t see,” Hi said. “Why should I?”
They were now riding side by side at a good speed, because both horses thought that it was a race.
“You turn back, see,” Bright Tooth cried. He motioned backwards, shaking his head.
“All right, old sport,” Hi said. He did not turn, nor did he mean to turn; he kept on, with an eye for the road and the next move. He shoved his stick into his bridle hand, so as to have his right hand free.
“Give up the horse, see?” Bright Tooth cried again. “Your money bad. Bad English money.” He gave a violent imitation of biting a coin and being sick. “You come back,” he cried, “or pay good money.”
“Rats,” Hi said.
“Your money bad.”
“The money was good,” Hi said.
“You pay more money. Another sovereign, see?”