“What ’ave yer got?”
“Got, pal?” replied Stumpy; “a ticker.”
“Hand it up,” said the man, hurriedly.
Stumpy produced me, and the man, taking me to the candle, examined me greedily and minutely.
Then he said,—
“I shall get fifteen bob for him.”
“Come, now, none of your larks!” replied Stumpy, who had produced the pipe, and was endeavouring to rekindle its few remaining embers at the candle; “try ag’in.”
“Well, I don’t see as he’ll fetch seventeen-and-six, but I’ll do it for you.”
“Try ag’in,” coolly replied Stumpy.
The man did try again, and named a sovereign, which my master also declined.