through upstanding white hair, and regarded his questioner suspiciously.
"You vant him, hey? Veil, I tell. Fifdy dollars, you bed your life!"
The blood leaped in his veins. He had expected to hear a hundred at least. Still, fifty was a difficult enough sum. He hesitated.
"Er—what's his name?"
"Naboleon."
"What?" He could not believe this thing.
"Naboleon. It comes in his bedigree when I giddim. You bed your life I gif him nod such names—robber, killer, Frenchman!"
Bean felt assaulted.
"He was a fighter?"
"Yah, fider—a killer unt a sdealer. You know what?"—his face lightened a little with garrulity—"my granmutter she seen him, yah, sure she seen him, seddin' on his horse when he gone ridin' into Utrecht in eighdeen hunderd fife, with soljus. Sure she seen him; she loogs outer a winda' so she could touch him if she been glose to him, unt a soljus rides oop unt says, 'Ve gamp right here, not?' unt Naboleon he shneer awful unt say, 'Gamp here vere dey go inter dem cellus from der ganal-side unt get unter us unt blow us high wit bowder—you sheep's head! No; ve gamp back in der Malibaan vere is old linden drees hunderd years old, eighd rows vun mile long, dere is vere ve gamp, you gread fool!' Sure my granmutter seen him. He pull his nose mit t'um unt finger, so! Muddy boods, vun glofe off, seddin'
