The man nodded.
"How much for the lot?"
"Twenty dollars."
"Gold or Confederate money?"
The old man blew his breath on his red woolen comforter and thoughtfully watched it freeze there, then he looked Prescott squarely in the face and asked:
"Stranger, have you just escaped from a lunatic asylum?"
"Certainly not!"
"Then why do you ask me such a fool question?"
Prescott drew forth one of the two twenty-dollar gold pieces and handed it to the man.
"I take your coal," he said. "Now unload it into that little back yard there and answer no questions. Can you do both?"