“It’s a great deal less than forty,” said I.

“An’ ten is less than fifteen, an’ ten shillin’ is my price; what d’ye say—­come now.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” said I, “but the waistcoat is yours at your own price.”  So saying, I slipped off knapsack and coat, and removing the garment in question, having first felt through the pockets, handed it to him, whereupon he slowly counted the ten shillings into my hand; which done, he sat down upon the shaft of a cart near by, and, spreading out the waistcoat on his knees, looked it over with glistening eyes.

“Forty shillin’ you paid for ’un, up to Lunnon,” said he, “forty shillin’ it were, I think?”

“Forty shillings!” said I.

“Ecod, it’s a sight o’ money!  But it’s a grand weskit—­ah, that it is!”

“So you believe me now, do you?” said I, pocketing the ten shillings.

“Well,” he answered slowly, “I won’t go so fur as that, but ’tis a mighty fine weskit theer’s no denyin’, an’ must ha’ cost a sight o’ money—­a powerful sight!” I picked up my knapsack and, slipping it on, took my staff, and turned to depart.  “Theer’s a mug o’ homebrewed, an’ a slice o’ fine roast beef up at th’ ’ouse, if you should be so inclined—­”

“Why, as to that,” said I, over my shoulder, “I neither eat nor drink with a man who doubts my word.”

“Meanin’ those forty shillin’?”

“Precisely!”

“Well,” said he, twisting his whisker with a thoughtful air, “if you could manage to mak’ it twenty—­or even twenty-five, I might mak’ some shift to believe it—­though ’twould be a strain, but forty!—­no, damme, I can’t swaller that!”

“Then, neither can I swallow your beef and ale,” said I.  “Wheer be goin’?” he inquired, rising, and following as I made for the gate.

“To the end of the road,” I answered.

“Then you be goin’ pretty fur—­that theer road leads to the sea.”

“Why, then I’m going to the sea,” said I.

“What to do?”

“I haven’t the ghost of an idea,” I returned.

“Can you work?”

“Yes,” said I.

“Can ye thatch a rick?”

“No,” said I.

“Shear a sheep?”

“No,” said I.

“Guide a plough?”

“No,” said I.

“Shoe a ’oss?”

“No,” said I.

“Then ye can’t work—­Lord love me, wheer ’ave ’e been?”

“At a university,” said I.

“Where, master?”

“At a place warranted to turn one out a highly educated incompetent,” I explained.

“Why, I don’t hold wi’ eddication nor book-larnin’, myself, master.  Here I be wi’ a good farm, an’ money in the bank, an’ can’t write my own name,” said the farmer.

“And here am I, a ‘first’ in ‘Litterae Humaniores,’ selling my waistcoat that I may eat,” said I. Being come to the gate of the yard, I paused.  “There is one favor you might grant me,” said I.