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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"Sir Nigel"

Yet, if your price be low I may add
them to my stock, though indeed this booth was made to sell and
not to buy. What do you ask?"
Nigel bent his brows in perplexity. Here was a game in which
neither his bold heart nor his active limbs could help him. It
was the new force mastering the old: the man of commerce
conquering the man of war--wearing him down and weakening him
through the centuries until he had him as his bond-servant and his
thrall.
"I know not what to ask, good sir," said Nigel. "It is not for
me, nor for any man who bears my name, to chaffer and to haggle.
You know the worth of these things, for it is your trade to do so.
The Lady Ermyntrude lacks money, and we must have it against the
King's coming, so give me that which is right and just, and we
will say no more."
The goldsmith smiled. The business was growing more simple and
more profitable. He had intended to offer fifty, but surely it
would be sinful waste to give more than twenty-five.
"I shall scarce know what to do with them when I have them," said
he. "Yet I should not grudge twenty nobles if it is a matter in
which the King is concerned."
Nigel's heart turned to lead. This sum would not buy one-half
what was needful. It was clear that the Lady Ermyntrude had
overvalued her treasures. Yet he could not return empty-handed,
so if twenty nobles was the real worth, as this good old man
assured him, then he must be thankful and take it.


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