In Walter’s time, though, such a reform had not been thought of. The florin had twenty stivers; the regular Holland dollar had fifty stivers, the Zeeland dollar had forty-two. The dollar was worth a florin and a half, and the gold florin was called a “twenty-eight,” because it contained twenty-eight stivers. The coins were well-worn and seldom exhibited any traces of inscriptions, milling, etc. Matters were further complicated by three-florin pieces and ducats of sixty-three stivers, not to mention any other coins.
For Walter the money question was a serious one.
“And you don’t know French, either?” in a tone that was scarcely encouraging.
“No——” mournfully.
“And would your parents put up cash security for you?”
Walter didn’t understand the question.
“Caution. Don’t you understand? Security! There’s lots of money handled, and I must know who I’m turning the shop over to. And—do you know Danish?”
Mr. Motto did not always speak grammatically.
“No—M’neer.”
“What! Nor Danish, either? But Danish sailors come in here to buy tobacco, and then you need to speak Danish. In a business like this here you must know all languages. That’s the main thing—otherwise your cake’s dough! I’ve even had Greeks to come in here.”