Page:Eliot - Felix Holt, the Radical, vol. I, 1866.djvu/192

182 condescended frequently to drink in the steward's room for the sake of the conversation; "why, I suppose they get money so fast in the East—it's wonderful. Why," he went on, with a hesitating look towards Mr Scales, "this Transome has p'raps got a matter of a hundred thousand."

"A hundred thousand, my dear sir! fiddle-stick's end of a hundred thousand," said Mr Scales, with a contempt very painful to be borne by a modest man.

"Well," said Mr Crowder, giving way under torture, as the all-knowing butler puffed and stared at him, "perhaps not so much as that."

"Not so much, sir! I tell you that a hundred thousand pounds is a bagatelle."

"Well, I know it's a big sum," said Mr Crowder, deprecatingly.

Here there was a general laugh. All the other intellects present were more cultivated than Mr Crowder's.

"Bagatelle is the French for trifle, my friend," said Mr Christian. "Don't talk over people's heads so, Scales. I shall have hard work to understand you myself soon."

"Come, that's a good one," said the head-gardener, who was a ready admirer; "I should like to hear the thing you don't understand, Christian."