“I don’t care,” Miss Wilkinson persisted, doggedly; “I know he said that, for I had a bottle of stephanotis one Christmas, and I never smelled anything so good. And then he said something about the Caribbean Sea——”
“Now, Miss Wilkinson, I’m afraid you’re romancing a little,” and the coroner looked at her in reproof.
“I’m telling you what I heard. If you don’t want to hear it, I’ll stop.”
“We want to hear it, if it’s true, not otherwise. Are you sure this man said these absurd things?”
“They weren’t absurd, leastways, Mr. Trowbridge didn’t think so. I know that, ’cause he was pleasant and polite, and when the man said he’d give him some stephanotis Mr. Trowbridge said, right off, he’d go.”
“Go to the Caribbean Sea with him?”
“I don’t know whether he meant that or not. I didn’t catch on to what he said about that, but I heard Caribbean Sea all right.”
“Do you know where that sea is?”
“No, sir. But I studied it in my geography at school, I forget where it is, but I remember the name.”
“Well it’s between—er—that is, it’s somewhere near South America, and the—well, it’s down that way. Did this man speaking sound like a foreigner?”