When they got into the ’bus for Market Road nearly every other passenger was laden with a big basket.
“They’re going to market, too,” Madeline nudged Betty. “So we’re not hopelessly late after all.”
When they had turned in at the big gates Betty stared about her in amazement. The vast open space was thronged with a laughing, chattering crowd of buyers. But above the noise they made rose the strident cries of the marketmen.
“Penny a mar-r-r-ket bunch!”
“Whatever-you-like at yer own price.”
“Rusty nails! Rusty na-ils!”
It took time to disentangle even those few cries from the multitude of strange announcements.
“Who would want rusty nails?” demanded Betty.
“I don’t know, but there they are—pounds and pounds of them. Somebody must want them or they wouldn’t be here. Isn’t it fun having everything spread out on the ground?”
“Literally everything,” laughed Betty. “Books and china and second-hand calico wrappers, and—yes, Madeline, second-hand tooth-brushes, right next to that lovely inlaid furniture.”