He ceased. There was a pale and awful silence. Not a limb stirred. Not a nostril betrayed the passage of breath.
“Is that all?” I asked, in a voice of the most perfect calmness.
“All, fair sir, save that certain matters of light moment are placed together under a head hight sundries. If it would like you, I will sepa—”
“It is of no consequence,” I said, accompanying the words with a gesture of the most utter indifference; “give me the grand total, please.”
The clerk leaned against the tree to stay himself, and said:
“Thirty-nine thousand one hundred and fifty milrays!”
The wheelwright fell off his stool, the others grabbed the table to save themselves, and there was a deep and general ejaculation of:
“God be with us in the day of disaster!”
The clerk hastened to say:
“My father chargeth me to say he cannot honorably require you to pay it all at this time, and therefore only prayeth you—”
I paid no more heed than if it were the idle breeze, but, with an air of indifference amounting almost to weariness, got out my money and tossed four dollars on to the table. Ah, you should have seen them stare!
The clerk was astonished and charmed. He asked me to retain one of the dollars as security, until he could go to town and—I interrupted:
“What, and fetch back nine cents? Nonsense! Take the whole. Keep the change.”
There was an amazed murmur to this effect: