Dimoussi could not read, but he nodded his head sagely.
“Yes. It is worth seven,” said he.
The shopman snatched it away from the boy.
“I will not be angry, for it is natural to boys to be foolish. But I will tell you the truth. I gave eight dollars for it after much bargaining. But it has hung in my shop for a year, and no one any more has money. Therefore, I will sell it to you for ten.”
He felt behind his back and showed Dimoussi a tantalising glint of the brass barrel. Dimoussi was unshaken.
“It has hung in your shop for four months,” said he.
“A year. That is why I will sell it to you at the loss of a dollar.”
“Liar, and son of a liar,” replied the boy, without any heat, “and grandson of a liar. I sold it to you for five dollars four months ago. I will give you eight for it to-day.”
He counted out the eight dollars one by one on the raised floor of the booth, and the shopman could not resist.
“Very well,” he cried furiously. “Take it, and may your children starve as mine surely will!”