“Delighted, I’m sure,” said Madame Penguin kindly, bustling about and placing some chairs for them to sit on. “Oh! you are wondering what are those little things in the glass cases, aren’t you, dear?” she said to Girlie, who was looking about her curiously.
“Well, yes, I was,” admitted Girlie.
“Those are Promises, my dear,” explained Madame Penguin, “and we have to keep them in glass cases because they are so very brittle; as it is, we get a great many broken ones, and then we have to sell them like this;” and she fetched a tray from the window with some little packages piled on it, marked “BROKEN PROMISES, three-a-penny each.”
“What a funny price!” thought Girlie, confusedly trying to reckon how much a dozen would cost at that rate, and having to give it up at last.
“Do you sell many of them?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, a great many,” said Madame Penguin, “but Excuses sell best. You see, we keep all kinds, and children buy a lot of ‘Excuses for not doing home lessons‘ and ‘Excuses for staying away from school.’ Then some people buy dozens at a time, for they never like to be without one, and just now I am having a great run on my ‘Excuse for not having found a goo.’ You see, nearly everybody wants one. I sold one yesterday to the Royal Microscopist. Can I show you a few?”
“I’m afraid I can’t buy any, for I have no money,” said Girlie, while the Wallypug, after fumbling about in his pocket for a minute, asked,—
“Have you any very cheap ones?” “You see, I have eighteenpence a week to spend as I like,” he explained to Girlie, “so I will buy you one, if you wish.”
“It’s very kind of you,” said Girlie, “but please don’t trouble.”
Madame Penguin, however, had reached down a large brown box filled with little packages, and placed it on the counter.