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"Twelve shillings!" exclaimed Eliakim, holding up both hands.
"That's all they cost when they were new."

"They cost every cint of five dollars," said Bridget. "They was
made at one of the most fashionable shops in the city. Oh, they

was an illigant pair when they was new."
"How many years ago was that?" asked the pawnbroker.

"Only six months, and they ain't been worn more'n a month."
"I'll give you fifty cents."

"Fifty cints!" repeated Mrs. McCarty, turning to the other
customers, as if to call their attention to an offer so out of

proportion to the valuable article she held in her hand. "Only
fifty cints for these illigant breeches! Oh, it's you that's a

hard man, that lives on the poor and the nady."
"You needn't take it. I should lose money on it, if you didn't

redeem it."
"He says he'd lose money on it," said Mrs. McCarty. "And suppose

he did, isn't he a-rollin' in gold?"
"I'm poor," said Eliakim; "almost as poor as you, because I'm too

liberal to my customers."
"Hear till him!" said Mrs. McCarty. "He says he's liberal and

only offers fifty cints for these illigant breeches."
"Will you take them or leave them?" demanded the pawnbroker,

impatiently.
"You may give me the money," said Bridget; "and it's I that

wonder how you can slape in your bed, when you are so hard on
poor folks."

Mrs. McCarty departed with her money, and Eliakim fixed his sharp
eyes on the next customer. It was a tall man, shabbily dressed,

with a thin, melancholy-looking face, and the expression of one
who had struggled with the world, and failed in the struggle.

"How much for this?" he asked, pointing to the violin, and
speaking in a slow, deliberate tone, as if he did not feel at

home in the language.
"What do you want for it?"

"Ten dollar," he answered.
"Ten dollars! You're crazy!" was the contemptuouscomment of

the pawnbroker.
"He is a very good violin," said the man. "If you would like to

hear him," and he made a movement as if to play upon it.
"Never mind!" said Eliakim. "I haven't any time to hear it. If

it were new it would be worth something; but it's old, and----"
"But you do not understand," interrupted the customer, eagerly.

"It is worth much more than new. Do you see, it is by a famous
maker? I would not sell him, but I am poor, and my Bettina needs

bread. It hurts me very much to let him go. I will buy him back
as soon as I can."

"I will give you two dollars, but I shall lose on it, unless you
redeem it."

"Two dollar!" repeated the Italian. "Ocielo! it is nothing.
But Bettina is at home without bread, poor little one! Will you

not give three dollar?"
"Not a cent more."

"I will take it."
"There's your money and ticket."

And with these the poor Italian departed, giving one last
lingering glance at his precious violin, as Eliakim took it

roughly and deposited it upon a shelf behind him. But he thought
of his little daughter at home, and the means of relief which he

held in his hand, and a smile of joy lightened his melancholy
features. The future might be dark and unpromising, but for

three days, at any rate, she should not want bread.
Paul's turn came next.

"What have you got?" asked the pawnbroker.
Paul showed the ring.

Eliakim took it, and his small, beadlike eyes sparkled
avariciously as he recognized the diamond, for his experience was

such that he could form a tolerably correct estimate of its
value. But he quickly suppressed all outward manifestations of

interest, and said, indifferently, "What do you want for it?"
"I want twenty dollars," said Paul, boldly.

"Twenty dollars!" returned the pawnbroker. "That's a joke."
"No, it isn't," said Paul. "I want twenty dollars, and you can't

have the ring for less."
"If you said twenty shillings, I might give it to you," said

Eliakim; "but you must think I am a fool to give twenty dollars."
"That's cheap for a diamond ring," said Paul. "It's worth a good

deal more."
The pawnbroker eyed Paul sharply. Did the boy know that it was a

diamond ring? What chance was there of deceiving him as to its
value? The old man, whose business made him a good judge,

decided that the ring was not worth less than two hundred and
fifty dollars, and if he could get it into his possession for a

trifle, it would be a paying operation.
"You're mistaken, boy," he said. "It's not a diamond."

"What is it?"
"A very good imitation."

"How much is it worth?"
"I'll give you three dollars."

"That won't do. I want to raise twenty dollars, and if I can't
get that, I'll keep the ring."

The pawnbroker saw that he had made a mistake. Paul was not as
much in need of money as the majority of his customers. He would

rather pay twenty dollars than lose the bargain, though it went
against the grain to pay so much money. But after pronouncing

the stone an imitation, how could he rise much above the offer he
had already made? He resolved to approach it gradually.

Surveying it more closely, he said:
"It is an excellent imitation. I will give you five dollars."

Paul was not without natural shrewdness, and this sudden advance
convinced him that it was, after all, a real stone. He

determined to get twenty dollars or carry the ring home.
"Five dollars won't do me any good," he said. "Give me back the

ring."
"Five dollars is a good deal of money," said Eliakim.

"I'd rather have the ring."
"What is your lowest price?"

"Twenty dollars."
"I'll give you eight."

"Just now you said it was worth only three," said Paul, sharply.
"It is very fine gold. It is better than I thought. Here is the

money."
"You're a little too fast," said Paul, coolly. "I haven't agreed

to part with the ring for eight dollars, and I don't mean to.
Twenty dollars is my lowest price."

"I'll give you ten," said the old man, whose eagerness increased
with Paul's indifference.

"No, you won't. Give me back the ring."
"I might give eleven, but I should lose money."

"I don't want you to lose money, and I've concluded to keep the
ring," said Paul, rightly inferring from the old man's eagerness

that the ring was much more valuable than he had at first
supposed.

But the old pawnbroker was fascinated by the sparkling bauble.
He could not make up his mind to give it up. By fair means or

foul he must possess it. He advanced his bid to twelve,
fourteen, fifteen dollars, but Paul shook his head resolutely.

He had made up his mind to carry it to Ball & Black's, or some
other first-class jewelers, and ascertain whether it was a real

diamond or not, and if so to obtain an estimate of its value.
"I've changed my mind," he said. "I'll keep the ring. Just give

it back to me."
CHAPTER XVI

THE JEWELER'S PRICE
But to give it back was not Eliakim's intention. Should he buy

it at twenty dollars, he would make at least two hundred, and
such bargains were not to be had every day. He decided to give

Paul his price.
"I will give you twenty dollars," he said; "but it is more than

the ring is worth."
"I have concluded not to take twenty dollars," said Paul. "You

may give it back."
"You agreed to take twenty dollars," said Eliakim, angrily.

"That was when I first came in. You said you wouldn't give it."
"I have changed my mind."

"So have I," said Paul. "You had a chance to get it, but now
it's too late."

Eliakim was deeply disappointed. Generally he had his own way
with his customers, who, being in urgent need of money, were

obliged to accept such terms as he chose to offer. But now the
tables were turned, and Paul proved more than a match for him.

He resolved to attempt intimidation.
"Boy, where did you get this ring?" he asked, in a significant

tone.
"Honestly," said Paul. "That's all you need to know."

"I don't believe it," said the old man, harshly. "I believe you
stole it."

"You may believe what you like, but you must give it back to me,"
said Paul, coolly.

"I've a great mind to call a policeman," said Eliakim.
"If you did," said Paul, "I'd tell him that you were anxious to

get the ring, though you believed it to be stolen. Perhaps he
might have something to say to you."

Eliakim perceived the force of Paul's argument, for in law the
receiver of stolen goods is as bad as the thief, and there had

been occasions when the pawnbroker had narrowly escaped
punishment for thus indirectly conniving at theft.

"If you say you got it honestly, I'll buy it of you," he said,
changing his tune. "What will you take?"

"I don't care about selling to-day," answered Paul.
"I'll give you twenty-five dollars."

"I can't sell without consulting my mother. It belongs to her."
Reluctantly Eliakim gave back the ring, finding his wiles of no

effect.
"Bring your mother round to-morrow," he said. "I'll give you a

better price than you will get anywhere else."
"All right," said Paul. "I'll tell her what you say."

The old pawnbroker followed Paul with wistful glances, vainly
wishing that he had not at first depreciated the ring to such an

extent, that his subsequent advances had evidently excited his
customer's suspicion that it was more valuable than be supposed.

He felt that he had lost it through not understanding the
character of the boy with whom he had to deal.

"Well, Paul, what news of the ring?" asked Mrs. Hoffman, as he
re-entered the room.

"I was offered twenty-five dollars for it," said Paul.
"Did you sell it?"

"No, mother."
"Why not?" asked Jimmy. "Twenty-five dollars is a lot of

money."
"I know it," said Paul; "but the ring is worth a great deal

more."
"What makes you think so, Paul?"

"Because the offer was made by a pawnbroker, who never pays
quarter what an article is worth. I am sure the ring is worth a

hundred dollars."
"Yes, I am sure it is worth all that."

"A hundred dollars!" repeated Jimmy, awestruck at the magnitude
of the sum.

"What shall we do about it, Paul?" asked his mother. "A hundred
dollars will do us more good than the ring."

"I know that, mother. What I propose is, to carry it to Ball &


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