“How is it?”
“Black, of course.”
“Without speck?”
“Without a single speck, or even point.”
“And you have this tulip,—you have it deposited here?”
“No, but it will be, as it has to be exhibited before the committee previous to the prize being awarded.”
“Oh, sir!” cried Rosa, “this Boxtel—this Isaac Boxtel—who calls himself the owner of the black tulip——”
“And who is its owner?”
“Is he not a very thin man?”
“Bald?”