Peckover made a rapid calculation based on the price-tickets he had studied during the luncheon hour in the windows of various establishments in Cheapside. "All right," he said graciously, "I shall be happy to present you with five pounds apiece; that is one pound seventeen for the damage and three guineas each for your trouble."
For a few moments a sepulchral silence reigned in the room. Then Mr. Fanning's mouth slowly opened, as though the machinery, brought to a sudden stop, was just set going again. But all he could say was:
"Five pounds apiece?"
So profound was his emotion that for the moment Peckover was at a loss as to the real effect of his offer.
"As a mark of my high appreciation of your services, and taking into consideration that we did not know the depth of water was only three foot six, I shall be pleased to make it guineas," Peckover announced, in as grand a manner as he knew how to assume.
Mr. Fanning threw up his hands and turned to Mr. Purvis, an incarnation of despair. "Five guineas! Five!" he gasped.
"The gentleman's joking," was all Purvis could say.
"No, I really mean it," said Peckover with princely condescension. "I absolutely refuse to reward your services at any lower figure, however much less your modesty may feel them to be really worth. I said five guineas and I mean five guineas, and not a shilling less than five guineas apiece shall you have."
Mr. Fanning was now reduced to a state of abject helplessness. "Five guineas! five guineas!" was his cry. "While the man who had to be rescued himself—by us, by us—gets a sum running into six figures. It's something to be a lord."
"A poor look-out for respectable farmers and tradesmen," put in Purvis.