“Not a glass of cider,” answered the man. “We had to unload and do the work of hoisting into the warehouse ourselves—no one was about.” “She left it for me—she knew you would meet us.” Tossing his head, to shake off the depression that had come upon him, and with a flash of his vanity through the gloom, he put his hand in his pocket and drew out a couple of shillings. “There,” said he; “you’d have had more, but I have spent most of my cash at the fair. Buying, buying, buying, that’s my trade. Go and drink a glass to my health.” Then he drove on. On descending the hill another waggon was encountered. This was also one that had conveyed fleeces to Coombe Cellars. Pasco gave this driver a couple of shillings. Then he turned to Bramber and said, “Two years of wool—I paid as much as thirteen pence a pound, and I can’t sell at tenpence. They say it is going down to sevenpence; that is nearly half what I gave. A loss to me of sixpence a pound; I have bought three waggonload. A good sheep may have sixteen pounds on his back, but the average is ten or eleven. Coaker must keep a couple of hundred. You’re a schoolmaster; reckon that up—two hundred sheep at eleven. I’m not a quick man at figures myself.” “Nothing can be simpler than that calculation. Two thousand two hundred.” “Ah! But two years’ wool?” “Well, that is four thousand four hundred.” “And I have lost, say, sixpence a pound.” “Then you lose a hundred and ten pounds by the transaction.” “Think of that. A hundred and ten pounds—say a hundred and twenty. That is something for a man to lose and make no account of.” The vanity of the man was flattered by the thought of the amount of his loss. “And then,” said he, “there was what Coaker said about the oak. I’ve undertaken to lay out two hundred pounds on that; and there is the fellin’ and cartin’—say another hundred. Suppose I lose this also—that is a matter of three hundred. With the wool, four hundred and twenty pound. I reckon, schoolmaster, you’ve never had the fingering of so much money as I am losing.” Bramber looked round at Pasco with surprise. He could not understand the sort of pride that was manifesting itself in the man. “Are you able to meet such losses?” “If not—I can but fail. It’s something to fail for a good sum. But I’ll not fail; I am full of resources.” He beat the horse. “I shall sell the wool. It will go up. I shall sell the timber at a good figure, and pocket a thousand pounds. I am sorry I did not give those men half a crown each, but I have spent most of my money, and”— Crash! He drove against a post, and upset the trap. Pasco staggered to his feet. “Schoolmaister—are you hurt?” “No.” Walter sprang to the horse and seized its head.