“Rings is a drug in the market, young lady,” he said. “I’ve got more than I know what to do with. I’ll give you four—four dollars.”
“Four dollars!” repeated Florence, in dismay. “Why, it must have cost fifty. It was bought in Tiffany’s.”
“You are mistaken, my dear. Did you buy it yourself there?”
“No, my uncle gave it to me.”
“He may have said he paid fifty dollars for it,” said the pawnbroker, wagging his head, “but we know better.”
“But what will you give?” asked Florence, desperately.
“I’ll give you five dollars, and not a penny more,” said the broker, surveying her distressed face, shrewdly. “You can take it or not.”
What could Florence do?
She must have money, and feared that no other pawnbroker would give her more.
“Make out the ticket, then,” she said, wearily, with a sigh.