“I think I know my own business best,” said Philip coldly. “I shall keep the violin.”
“Maybe it ain’t for you to say,” returned Nick, apparently not aware of his insolence. “Come, now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. My father’s got a bill against yours for a dollar and sixty-four cents. I told father I had a use for the fiddle, and he says if you’ll give it to me, he’ll call it square. There, what do you say to that?”
Nicholas leaned back in his chair and looked at Philip through his small, fishy eyes, as if he had made an uncommonly liberal offer. As for Philip, he hardly knew whether to be angry or amused.
“You offer me a dollar and sixty-four cents for my violin?” he repeated.
“Yes. It’s second-hand, to be sure, but I guess it’s in pretty fair condition. Besides, you might help me a little about learnin’ how to play.”
“How much do you suppose the violin cost?” inquired Philip.
“Couldn’t say.”
“It cost my father twenty-five dollars.”
“Oh, come, now, that’s too thin! You don’t expect a feller to believe such a story as that?”
“I expect to be believed, for I never tell anything but the truth.”