Potch looked at Michael.
"We haven't fixed any price," he said.
"Four hundred pounds?" Armitage asked.
Potch's grey eyes lay on his for the fraction of a second.
"You haven't got money enough to buy that stone, Mr. Armitage," he said, quietly.
The old man was crestfallen. Although he pretended that he had no hope of buying the opal, everybody knew that, hoping against hope, he had not altogether despaired of being able to prevail against the Ridge resolution not to sell to Armitage and Son, in this instance. Potch remarked vaguely that he had to see Paul, and went out of the hut.
"Oh, well," Dawe Armitage said, "I suppose that settles the matter. Daresay I was a durned old fool to try the boy—but there you are. Well, since I can't have her, Michael, see nobody else gets her for less than my bid."
The men were sorry for the old man. What Potch had said was rather like striking a man when he was down, they thought; and they were not too pleased about it.
"Potch doesn't seem to fancy sellin' at all for a bit," Michael said.
"What!" Armitage exclaimed. "He's not a miser—at his age?"