“No, that's all rot,” protested Ginger. “I mean to say—three. I don't,” he went on, making a concession, “mind saying twenty.”
“If you insist, I'll make it five. Not more.”
“Well, ten, then?”
“Five!”
“Suppose,” said Ginger insinuatingly, “I said seven?”
“I never saw anyone like you for haggling,” said Sally with disapproval. “Listen! Six. And that's my last word.”
“Six?”
“Six.”
Ginger did sums in his head.
“But that would only work out at three hundred dollars a year. It isn't enough.”