“And who will weigh it for you?” asked Rosette, scarcely able to conceal the eagerness that prompted the question.
“Why, they will weigh it with my steelyard, of course. There is no other balance here.” And as the Jew spoke, the professor fancied he could detect the faintest of sighs.
“Good, Master Isaac; all the better for you! You will get your seven pounds instead of one!”
“Yes; well, seven, or thereabouts—thereabouts,” stammered the Jew with considerable hesitation.
Rosette scanned his countenance narrowly, and was about to probe him with further questions, when Ben Zoof returned. “And what does his Excellency say?” inquired Hakkabut.
“Why, Nehemiah, he says he shan’t give you any.”
“Merciful heavens!” began the Jew.
“He says he doesn’t mind selling you a little.”
“But, by the holy city, why does he make me pay for what anybody else could have for nothing?”
“As I told you before, you are not anybody else; so, come along. You can afford to buy what you want. We should like to see the color of your money.”