“Well,” said Priscilla triumphantly, “I can tell you she is not going to have a piano. She’s going to have a little organ instead, because she can play tunes better on an organ, and it’s more suitable for her; so there’s an end of that.”
“It doesn’t matter whether it is an organ or piano,” said George, “the principle is the same.”
“Well, but you said a piano; I don’t think the principle is the same. If I were she I would sooner have the piano.”
A shade of perplexed trouble crossed George’s face, and some creases appeared in his forehead; but he smoothed them away and laid down his paper.
“Priscilla, put away your work for a moment and just listen.”
Priscilla was making something in the shape of netting by means of pins and a long loop which was fastened under her foot.
“I can listen, George; there is no occasion to put it away.”
“Well then,” he answered, placing both his elbows on the table, and resting his face upon them, “all corn which comes into this country pays a duty—that you understand. Consequently it cannot be sold here for less than sixty shillings a quarter. Of course, if that is the case, English wheat is kept up to a higher price than it would fetch it there was no duty. Therefore bread is, as I calculate, about twopence a loaf dearer than it ought to be. And why should it be? That’s what I want to know.”
“I believe,” said Priscilla, “we might save a good bit by baking at home.”
“Yes, yes; but never mind that now. You know that foreign corn pays a duty. You do know that?”