“Where have you been living, not to know that? And now, young man, you can be off. I have no time to waste in talking to you.”
“I thought you might be willing to put us across the river for a piastre or two,” said Cyril sadly, jingling the coins in his girdle.
“Put you across? Why didn’t you say so at once, instead of talking nonsense about helping? But what’s wrong that you don’t cross by the bridge?”
“The soldiers are making some fuss about passports, and we have none. Who would take passports on a pilgrimage, to get them stolen? And there is no one from our village to testify to our identity; but if you took us on board you would be able to say that we were respectable people.”
“And how am I to know you are respectable people?”
“If you found us prepared to pay you a certain sum for putting us across, surely that would show we were respectable?”
“Ah!” cunningly; “that would depend upon the sum. How much?”
“Five piastres,” said Cyril, with the air of one making a tremendous offer. The sum named was somewhat under a shilling.
“Fifteen,” replied the man in possession, promptly.
“Ten,” said Cyril, with a lack of resolution which was quickly seen through.