“Ask Griffiths; he always has money,” suggested Edwards.
“Hang the fellow, yes,” said Saurin. “But he will make such a favour of it if he lends it, and he is just as likely as not to refuse. I have it, though! He offered me half-a-crown for my crossbow last term, and I would not let him have it; he shall now.”
The crossbow in question was an ingenious little thing about six inches long, the bow of steel, the string of catgut, the stock and barrel of wood, and it projected marbles or spherical bullets with very considerable force. It would raise a bump on the head at twenty yards, and break a window at thirty. Griffiths also lived in Mr Cookson’s house, so that Saurin had only to go to his own room, get out, dust, and rub up the article, which had lain in a corner forgotten, and go up the other staircase.
“I say, Griffiths,” he began; “in turning out some old things I have just come across this little steel bow which you wanted to buy of me, you know. I am tired of it now, and so you can have it if you like. Half-a-crown, I think, you said that you would give, was it not?”
Griffiths coveted the toy as much or more than ever he had done, but he was a born dealer; and when he saw that the other was anxious to sell he assumed indifference in order to lower the price.
“Why, you see,” he said, “last term is not this term. I was pretty flush just then, and had a fancy for the thing. Now the money has gone, and I don’t so much care.”
“You won’t have it then? oh! very well; all right.”
“Stop, don’t be in a hurry; I’ll give you eighteenpence for it.”
“Make it two shillings,” urged Saurin.
“No; eighteenpence or nothing,” Griffiths persisted.