Richard told him. The man looked rather doubtful. “Let me see it,” he said.
The cloth was a soft, thick rough web with a long furry nap. If it was made into a cloak the person who wore it could have the nap sheared off when it was shabby, and wear it again and shear it again until it was threadbare. A man who did this work was called a shearman or sherman. The strange merchant pursed his lips and fingered the cloth. “Common stuff,” he said, “I doubt me the dyes will not be fast color, and it will have to be finished at my cost. There is no profit for me in it, but I should like to help you—I like manly boys. What do you want for it?”
Richard named the price his mother had told him to ask. There was an empty feeling inside him, for he knew that unless they sold that cloth they had only threepence to buy anything whatever to eat, and it would be a long time to next market day. The merchant laughed. “You will never make a trader if you do not learn the worth of things, my boy,” he said good-naturedly. “The cloth is worth more than that. I will give you sixpence over, just by way of a lesson.”
Richard hesitated. He had never heard of such a thing as anybody offering more for a thing than was asked, and he looked incredulously at the handful of silver and copper that the merchant held out. “You had better take it and go home,” the man added. “Think how surprised your mother will be! You can tell her that she has a fine young son—Conrad Waibling said so.”
Richard still hesitated, and Waibling withdrew the money. “You may ask any one in the market,” he said impatiently, “and if you get a better price than mine I say no more.”
“Thank you,” said Richard soberly, “I will come back if I get no other offer.”
He took his cloth to the oldest of the merchants and asked him if he would better Waibling’s price, but the man shook his head. “More than it is worth,” he said. “Nobody will give you that, my boy.” And from two others he got the same reply. He went back to Waibling finally, left the cloth and took his price.
He had never seen a silver penny before. It had a cross on one side and the King’s head on the other, as the common pennies did; it was rather tarnished, but he rubbed it on his jacket to brighten it. He thought he would like to have it bright and shining when he showed it to his mother. All the time that he was sitting on a bank by the roadside, a little way out of the town, eating his bread and cheese, he was polishing the silver penny. A young man who rode by just then, with a black-eyed young woman behind him, reined in his horse and looked down with some amusement. “What art doing, lad?” he asked.
“It’s my silver penny,” said Richard. “I wanted it to be fine and bonny to show mother.”
“Ha!” said the young man. “Let’s see.” Richard held up the penny. “Who gave you that, my boy?”