"What do you ask for those loaves?" said the old man, looking wistfully at some fresh loaves piled upon the counter, which had been but a short time out of the oven.
"Five cents apiece," said the baker. "I'll warrant you will find them good. They are made of the best of flour."
"Isn't five cents rather dear?" queried Peter, his natural appetite struggling with his avarice.
"Dear!" retorted the baker, opening his eyes in astonishment; "why, my good sir, at what price do you expect to buy bread?"
"I've no doubt they're very good," said Peter, hastily; "but have you any stale loaves? I guess they'll be better for me."
"Yes," said the baker, "I believe I have, but they're not as good as the fresh bread."
"How do you sell your stale loaves?" inquired Peter, fumbling in his pocket for some change.
"I sell them for about half price—three cents apiece."
"You may give me one, then; I guess it'll be better for me."
Even Peter was a little ashamed to acknowledge that it was the price alone which influenced his choice.