Just as he was at his wit's end, he heard a cry through the window. It had meant nothing to him before. Now—strange as it may sound—it meant a rose!
"Cash clo'! Cash clo'!"
He had an old dress-suit in his wardrobe. Perhaps that would buy a rose! So, leaning through the window, he called down to the voice to "come up."
The gentleman from Palestine came up.
It would be easy to describe the contempt with which he surveyed the distinguished though somewhat ancient garments thus offered to him—in exchange for a rose!—how he affected to examine linings and seams, knowing all the time the distinguished tailor that had made them, and what a bargain he was about to drive.
Of course, they weren't, well ... really ... practically ... they weren't worth buying....
The poet wondered a moment about the cost of a rose.
"Are they worth the price of a rose?" he asked.
The gentleman from Palestine didn't, of course, understand.