“Sixteen pennies.” Foxy had taken care of this part of the business.
“Sixteen!” exclaimed Hughie, snatching up the bunch.
“Count them yourself,” said Foxy, calmly, knowing well he could count on Hughie's honesty.
“Seventeen,” said Hughie, hopelessly.
“But one of those I didn't count,” said Foxy, generously. “That's the one I gave you to try at the first. Now, I tell you,” went on Foxy, insinuatingly, “you have got how much at home?” he inquired.
“Six pennies and two dimes.” Hughie's tone indicated despair.
“You've got six pennies and two dimes. Six pennies and two dimes. That's twenty—that's thirty-two cents. Now if you paid me that thirty-two cents, and if you could get a half-dollar anywhere, that would be eighty-two. I tell you what I would do. I would let you have that pistol for only one dollar more. That ain't much,” he said.
“Only a dollar more,” said Hughie, calculating rapidly. “But where would I get the fifty cents?” The dollar seemed at that moment to Hughie quite a possible thing, if only the fifty cents could be got. The dollar was more remote, and therefore less pressing.
Foxy had an inspiration.
“I tell you what. You borrow that fifty cents you found, and then you can pay me eighty-two cents, and—and—” he hesitated—“perhaps you will find some more, or something.”