The man rummaged in a basket and produced two little white lambs, each standing on a hillock of green grass.
“Oh, how cunning,” murmured Betty. “I simply must have those.”
“Then don’t act too anxious, or he’ll put the price away up,” Madeline whispered.
“You buy them,” Betty whispered back.
“We wanted a man’s figure,” explained Madeline nonchalantly. “You haven’t any? Then I guess that’s all. How much are the lambs?”
“Thrippence.”
“I’ll take them,” cried Betty before Madeline could answer.
The man looked amusedly from one to the other. “You mustn’t quarrel over the baa-lambs, ladies.”
“Oh, we won’t.” Betty held out her money. “Madeline, look!”
A wizened, grizzled little Jew, whose wares were spread out next to those of the owner of the “baa-lambs,” had overheard their conversation with his rival and was holding out a figure, the exact counterpart of the one in the Oxford Street shop. Madeline pinched Betty to remind her not to appear over-anxious.