"Don't you s'pose it'll pass?"
"Well, yes, it might; but it'll only buy a cent's worth. I'll give you more than that for it."
"Going to melt it over and make a new cent of it?"
"No, Ben, not so bad as that. I'll keep it to look at. It's a very old German coin, and I'm what they call a numismatist."
Ben listened hard over that word for a moment, and tried to repeat it.
"Rumismatics—I know; it's a good deal like what father says he has sometimes. Gets into his back and legs."
"Not quite, Ben; but it makes me gather up old coins, and put them in a glass case, and look at them."
"Father's is worse 'n that; it takes him bad in rainy weather."
"Well, Ben, I'll give the pig or you, just as you say, a quarter of a dollar for that cent."
Ben's eyes fairly danced, but all he could manage to say was, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Guess I will."