Then a Turk halted at the carriage which had been stopped in the press. He had a great clapper, which made a hideous noise, and a voice that went through your ears. A tray was suspended from a leathern strap that passed around his neck. He wore a gay fez, and a jacket embroidered with gold thread much tarnished, and full Turkish trousers of red silk so soiled one could hardly tell the color. His swarthy skin and long, waxed mustache gave him a fierce look.
"Oh, mother, get some candy," cried Olive, "I'm just dying for some."
Fortunately it was done up in a kind of soft Chinese paper, and so kept from the dust. Then in a jar he had some curious shredded stuff that looked like creamy ravellings.
"Oh, we will drive around and get some at Winn's," said her mother.
"Oh, Laverne, don't you want some real Turkish candy?"
Laverne looked undecided.
"Oh, do, do," pleaded Olive, and Mrs. Personette yielded.
The ravelly stuff was very funny and melted in your mouth, and the candy seemed saturated with all flavors.
"Of course, Winn's is much better," declared Olive, with an air. "Oh, mother, can't we go to Winn's and have some lunch!"
"I've been considering that," returned her mother.