Then he stepped up close to me, put the black jack in my hand, and said, with an appealing note in his voice: "Two hundred years in my family, maister. Just say what you've a-mind to give me; only let it be a fair price. I would not be so anxious to sell it, but my rent is a bit behind, and I shall have to sleep with Miss Green——"
"Sleep with Miss Green?" I gasped, somewhat shocked.
"Sleep under the hedge, then," he continued, making the expression clear to me. "Now, you see the fix I'm in, maister."
Then I was ashamed. Deep shame covered me, and I had a great revulsion of feeling. How could I be so niggardly as to beat down this poor fellow's price? Perhaps, after all, it was his only possession of any value at all. I turned the jack over in my hands. It was strong and black and very highly polished with age—and the curves and proportions of it were exactly satisfying to the eye that looked upon it. It was a benediction of a flagon....
I held it up, and said, "How much?"
"Aw! dally-buttons! Take it for two pounds," he said, "you nidden begridge me that."
And he added, in passing, that two pounds made it a kind of gift to me—just a token to signify it had changed hands: it was an act of pure charity on his part.
"Then," I said, "thirty shillings," and he waved his hand about genially, and remarked that it "twidden" be worth his while to stretch out his hand for such a paltry sum.
So then I pulled out thirty shillings, and he pushed the flagon over to me and took the money. Thus the bargain was struck.
So this being settled, and I eager for a drink of ale, called the innkeeper, who was in another room. Beer was brought and my friend insisted on paying for it.