'But that doesn't begin with the right word,' I said.
'I must tell you the context, child. Suppose a Plymouth Brother were
arguing with an atheist.'
'One, two, three,' I counted.
'He might with perfect propriety say.'
'Four, five, six.'
'Hell, man, is _not_ a myth. Aunt Amelia would say he was "one of the
right sort," so that's worth 3d. extra. Give me that bob, Meg.'
So I gave him six pennies, six halfpennies, and a threepenny bit, and he
said it wasn't a bob. He said it was a shilling, which was different,
and he "couldn't be fashed with all that muck in his pockets," so we
bought sweets.