He sighed drearily and said to Mr.Merrick: "You must pay him thirty lira." "How much is that ?" "Six dollars." "Not by a jugfull!" "You made no bargain." "I couldn't.

He can't talk." "He claims it is you who cannot talk." "What!" "And prices are advanced during these awful days.

What does it matter?
Your money will do you no good when we are all buried deep in ash and scoria." The big man shuddered at this gloomy picture, and added, listlessly: "You'll have to pay." Uncle John paid, but the driver wouldn't accept American money.

The disconsolate concierge would, though.

He unlocked a drawer, put the six dollars into one section and drew from another two ten-lira notes.