"The seven? I see. The seven who divided those two sovereigns."
"Yes. It's some German sausage. I hope you like German sausage."
"It's my favourite joint."
I endeavoured to correct what I imagined to be a still further display of his ignorance.
"I don't think that German sausage is a joint. It's not generally looked upon as such. It's a long, round, cold thing, off which, you know, they cut it in slices."
I passed him the parcel, he removing--for the first time--one of his hands from his pockets for the purpose of taking it, balancing it on his open palm as if on a scale. It was a pretty grimy piece of newspaper, and was not of a size to suggest extensive contents. I became more and more conscious of its wretched smallness as, with every outward appearance of care and gravity, he slowly unwrapped it. The others gathered closer round, as if agog with curiosity. Finally there were revealed three or four attenuated slices. He held them out at arm's length in front of them.
"For seven!"
"There isn't much," I managed to murmur, oppressed, all at once, by the discovery of what a dreadful little there really was. "But I had only twopence."
"You had only twopence, so you purchased two pennyworths of German sausage--for seven."
"Of course I'll earn a deal of money for you besides."