“What!” exclaimed Tom; “do you know what it’s worth?”
“Ten shillings is all I can give you,” curtly replied the pawnbroker.
Tom gulped down a groan. “Give me the money, then, for goodness’ sake,” he said.
The pawnbroker coolly and deliberately made out the ticket, while Tom stood chafing impatiently.
“Be quick, please!” he said, as though fearful of some one detecting him in a crime.
“Don’t you be in a hurry,” said the pawnbroker.
“Here’s the ticket.”
“And the ten shillings?” broke in Tom.
“You shall have it,” said my master, going to his drawer.
To Tom it seemed ages while the silver was being counted, and when he had got it he darted from the shop as swiftly as he had entered it.