"Never heard of it."
"It is a long way off."
"Hm-m-m. What are these made of? Tin?" The money changer indicated the four nickel coins.
"Nickel."
"What's that? Some funny metal they have in your country?"
"Hoc ille."
"What's it worth?"
Padway thought for a second of trying to put a fantastically high value on the coins. While he was working up his courage, S. Dentatus interrupted his thoughts:
"It doesn't matter, because I wouldn't touch the stuff. There wouldn't be any market for it. But these other pieces—let's see—" He got out a balance and weighed the bronze coins, and then the silver coins. He pushed counters up and down the grooves of a little bronze abacus, and said: "They're worth just under one solidus. Give you a solidus even for them." Padway didn't answer immediately. Eventually he'd have to take what was offered, as he hated the idea of bargaining and didn't know the values of the current money. But to save his face he had to appear to consider the offer carefully.
A man stepped up to the counter beside him. He was a heavy, ruddy man with a flaring brown mustache and his hair in a long or Ginger Rogers bob. He wore a linen blouse and long leather pants. He grinned at Padway, and reeled off: "Ho, frijond, habais faurthei! Alai skalljans sind waidedjans." Oh, Lord, another language! Padway answered: "I . . . I am sorry, but I do not understand."