"Well I'll settle that in a minute," said the Unwiseman, and reaching out for the tin-box in less than two minutes he had eaten its contents. "You can't tax what ain't, can you?" he asked.
"Of course not," said the Inspector.
"Well then those ginger-snaps ain't, and the bananas ain't and the eclair ain't, so there you are," said the Unwiseman triumphantly. "Go on with your search, Uncle Sammy. You haven't got much towards the President's salary yet, have you!"
The Inspector scorned to reply, and after rummaging about in the bag for a few moments, he produced a small box of macaroni.
"I guess we'll tax you on this," he said. "What is it?"
"Bait," said the Unwiseman.
"I call it macaroni," said the Inspector.
"You can call it what you please," said the Unwiseman. "I call it bait—and it's no good. I can dig better bait than all the macaroni in the world in my back yard. I fish for fish and not for Eye-talians, so I don't need that kind. If I can't keep it without paying taxes for it, confisticate it and eat it yourself. I only brought it home as a souvenir of Genoa anyhow."
"I don't want it," said the Inspector.
"Then give it to the policeman," said the Unwiseman. "I tell you right now I wouldn't pay five cents to keep a piece of macaroni nine miles long. Be careful the way you handle that sailor suit of mine. I had it pressed in London and I want to keep the creases in the trousers just right the way the King wears his."