Her. Ferryman, what do you say to settling up accounts? It will prevent any unpleasantness later on.
Ch. Very good. It does save trouble to get these things straight.
Her. One anchor, to your order, five shillings.
Ch. That is a lot of money.
Her. So help me Pluto, it is what I had to pay. One rowlock-strap, fourpence.
Ch. Five and four; put that down.
Her. Then there was a needle, for mending the sail; tenpence.
Ch. Down with it.
Her. Caulking-wax; nails; and cord for the brace. Two shillings the lot.
Ch. They were worth the money.
Her. That's all; unless I have forgotten anything. When will you pay it?
Ch. I can't just now, Hermes; we shall have a war or a plague presently, and then the passengers will come shoaling in, and I shall be able to make a little by jobbing the fares.
Her. So for the present I have nothing to do but sit down, and pray for the worst, as my only chance of getting paid?
Ch. There is nothing else for it;--very little business doing just now, as you see, owing to the peace.
Her. That is just as well, though it does keep me waiting for my money. After all, though, Charon, in old days men were men; you remember the state they used to come down in,--all blood and wounds generally. Nowadays, a man is poisoned by his slave or his wife; or gets dropsy from overfeeding; a pale, spiritless lot, nothing like the men of old. Most of them seem to meet their end in some plot that has money for its object.
Ch. Ah; money is in great request.
Her. Yes; you can't blame me if I am somewhat urgent for payment.