“Here comes another one,” Nina said. “You must look like a rich American, Daddy.”
When the man revealed the object he had for sale, everyone gasped. It was one of the tiny souvenir ships from the Gasparilla Festival in Tampa. But instead of being cheap brass, this one gleamed like pure gold.
Mr. Curtin’s eyes flashed. “Where did you get this?”
The man smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“Solid gold, señor. I sell cheap.”
“Solid gold?” Vicki repeated incredulously.
“Sí, señorita. Solid gold.”
Mr. Curtin laughed. “We’re from Tampa, fellow. We could buy all of those we wanted last week for a quarter. I must say you’ve done a nice polishing job. But go and find yourself another sucker.”
He waved the man away.
“Well, girls,” he said, “have you seen enough?”