"Not literally, I suppose?" Dick said, with contempt. "Look here, Mr. Mawdster, when you've quite emptied yourself of swear-words, you will oblige me by naming the amount of my bill. I want to pay it and go!"
"Bluff!" scoffed the printer. "Why should I waste time making out a bill—what proof have I that you can pay it?"
"'To Simple Simon said the Pieman,
First show me your penny',"
Dick quoted, with a laugh, which drew the printer into a fresh outburst of abuse. "So be it; here is the money, Mr. Mawdster, in my hand. Take a good look at it."
It was the act of a novice in the game of commercial poker to lay his cards on the table like that. The printer stared at the notes, and with rapid mental arithmetic summed up their approximate value. Then he took full advantage of his opponent's youthful inexperience.
"My account comes to thirty pounds, four shillings, and sixpence," he said. "Very reasonable, too, allowing for the dearness of paper and labour."
A boy of shrewder business instincts—Roger Cayton, for instance—would have haggled over that figure and possibly secured some reduction. But Dick, though suspicious that he was being overcharged, made no protest. Out of his scanty store of pocket-money he added four-and-sixpence to the notes Smithies had lent him, and laid the full amount on the desk.
Mr. Mawdster made for the cash as a greedy sparrow darts down on crumbs of cake, but Dick quietly put his school-cap over the little pile.
"Pardon me, Mr. Mawdster, but I'll keep this company till you bring the receipt," he said.
"Most insulting," snapped the printer.