Silence lay between them for a moment.
"What have you got on the lot, Michael?" Armitage asked, picking up the stones before him and going over them absent-mindedly.
"A tenner," Michael said.
Usually a gouger asked several pounds more than he expected to get. John Armitage knew that; Michael knew he knew it. Armitage played with the stones, hesitated as though his mind were not made up. There was not much more than potch and colour in the bundle. He went over the stones with the glass again.
"Oh well, Michael," he said, "we're old friends. I won't haggle with you. Ten pounds—your own valuation."
He would get twice as much for the parcel, but the price was a good one. Michael was surprised he had conceded it so easily.
Armitage pulled out his cheque-book and pushed a box of cigars across the table. Michael took out his pipe.
"If you don't mind, Mr. Armitage," he said, "I'm more at home with this."
"Please yourself, Michael," Armitage murmured, writing his cheque.
When Michael had put the cheque in his pocket, Armitage took a cigar, nipped and lighted it, and leaned back in his chair again.