“Two guineas? that’s not worth having. The bark is first-rate--must be, it is so tremendous old.”
“That[“That] is just what spoils it. We get the tan-juice from the under rind. We don’t want the crust, or outer bark; that is so much waste. Young coppice is the best for our purpose, and worth more for tanning than thrice the value of your old timber. I’ll give you two guineas; not a penny more. And let me tell you, you’ll have some difficulty in barking the old trees. The sap is a wonderful ticklish thing to run in them; it’s like the circulating of blood in old men.”
“Two guineas! I won’t look at ’em,” said Pepperill, and passed on. He was angry and disappointed. He had reckoned on making a good price out of the bark. This meeting with Mr. Hamley would have a bad effect on the schoolmaster. Pepperill turned to him and said, “He’s a cunning file. He knows the Brimpts bark is worth seven guineas at least, but he’s trying to drive a bargain. He’ll come round in time, and be glad to buy at my price.”
“Halloo!”
Pepperill was clapped on the back, and, turning, saw his brother-in-law.
“Pasco, old boy,” said Jason, “is it true you bought his two years’ stock of fleeces off Coaker?”
“Yes, I did.”
“More fool you. What did you pay?”
“Thirteenpence.”
“Done you are. Have you not heard that wool has dropped to tenpence?”