“And what is the price?”
“Forty guilders.”
“Hein!” shouted Van Curter, breaking into Dutch. “Do you mean, seriously and gravely, to ask me forty guilders for a pair of spurs not worth ten?”
“You wanted to know where the cheat was—in the spurs or the price. You’ve got it. It’s in the price.”
“Der tuyvel! Hold; here is your money. And now take away your pack, or you will ruin my house. Go quickly.”
“I was thinking to wait,” said Boston, coolly buttoning up the cash in his breeches-pocket, “until the lady has made her selections; she don’t seem to have finished.”
“Make your purchases quickly, Theresa, and come with me. I wish to speak with you. Do not delay.”
Theresa gathered up her purchases and demanded the price. He gave such a moderate one, even for him, that Van Curter was astonished, and made no attempt to make the price less.
“You have some conscience yet, Bainbridge,” he said. “Here is your money. Come, Theresa.”