“Buy a maggyzine,” he chanted. “All the latest maggyzines!”
“Good ones for the ladies,
Bad ones for the gents;
All the latest maggyzines
For fifteen cents!”
Amused, they stopped talking to listen to his ridiculous singsong.
“Buy a maggyzine, lady?” he said, holding one out to Nyoda. On the last sentence his voice cracked in three directions and leaped up the scale a full octave, so the word “lady” was uttered in a high falsetto squeak.
“Katherine!” exclaimed Nyoda, seizing the magazine seller by the arm in amazement.
“At yer service, mum,” replied that worthy, with a low bow.
Then, amid the hubbub that ensued she calmly proceeded to remove the fuzzy little black mustache that had adorned her upper lip, took off the fur cap that had covered her hair and threw back the long ulster that covered her from neck to heels, and stood smiling wickedly at them.