"Two hundred pounds!" cried out the archæologist, nearly jumping out of his chair.
His affected surprise was dramatic, but unfortunately for its effect it was overdone, so that even Jerry felt it to be theatrical.
"Shall we call it two hundred and fifty?" the mate asked, enjoying himself more every minute.
"Two hundred and fifty devils!" shouted Wrenmarsh, who appeared more irritated, it seemed to Jerry, on account of being outmanœuvred than because the price was so high.
"Not devils—pounds," Tab responded, smiling at his own wit.
"Leave off the two hundred," begged the collector.
"The agreement is only conditional anyway," Jerry said, with something of an air, "but if it seems to you fairer, we'll leave off the fifty, and call it an even two hundred—one for you and one for those precious boxes, to be paid on arrival. I'm not a Neapolitan. Will you go ashore here or wait for the captain?"
"I'll wait for the captain, Mr. Taberman," Wrenmarsh replied. He glowered across the bay for a moment, and then added, "He may not be so infernally exorbitant as you are."
Jerry smiled secretly to himself, and resolved that at least Jack should be persuaded to make no easier terms. Then he went to write a note to summon the captain to come aboard to consider this proposition of taking a passenger.