“Leave out all these idle words in your own praise，” interrupted the Tarkaan. “It is enough to know that you took the child.and have had ten times the worth of his daily bread out of him in labour， as anyone can see. And now tell me at once what price you put on him， for I am wearied with your loquacity.”
“You yourself have wisely said，” answered Arsheesh， “that the boy‘s labour has been to me of inestimable value. This must be taken into account in fixing the price. For if I sell the boy I must undoubtedly either buy or hire another to do his work.”
“I’ll give you fifteen crescents for him，” said the Tarkaan.
“Fifteen！” cried Arsheesh in a voice that was something between a whine and a scream. “Fifteen！ For the prop of my old age and the delight of my eyes！ Do not mock my grey beard， Tarkaan though you be. My price is seventy.”
At this point Shasta got up and tiptoed away. He had heard all he wanted， for he had often listened when men were bargaining in the village and knew how it was done. He was quite certain that Arsheesh would sell him in the end for something much more than fifteen crescents and much less than seventy， but that he and the Tarkaan would take hours in getting to an agreement.