The twins sighed and hurried next door to the grocer's.
"A nickel's worth of pepper—the strongest you have."
This was quickly settled—and the grave-faced twins betook themselves to the corner drug store.
"We—we want something with a perfectly awful smell," Lark explained soberly.
"What kind of a smell?"
"We don't care what kind, but it must be perfectly sickening. Like something rotten, or dead, if you have it. Something that will stay smelly for several hours,—but it mustn't be dangerous, of course."
"What do you want it for?"
"We want it to put in a room to give it a horrible smell for an hour or so." Lark winked at him solemnly. "It's a joke," she further elucidated.
"I see." His eyes twinkled. "I think I can fix you up." A moment later he handed her a small bottle. "Just sprinkle this over the carpet. It won't do any harm, and it smells like thunder. It costs a quarter."
Carol frowned. "I suppose we'll have to take it," she said, "but it's pretty expensive. I hate to have druggists get such a lot of money."