"Look at that, Cap'n Zeb," he says. "What do you think of that?"
I took what he handed me, and looked at it. 'Twas a piece of handmade lace—a centerpiece, I believe they call it—and 'twas mighty well done.
"Think of it?" says I. "Well, I ain't much of a judge, but I'd call it a pretty slick article. Who made it?"
The old black-haired chap answered.
"My sister," he says. "She make 'em. Make 'em plenty."
"Bully for her!" says I. "She's the lady we've been lookin' for. Maybe she make some more; hey?"
He grinned; and Jacobs mentioned for me to clear out; so I done it. He and old Gingerbread Face stayed aloft in that Exchange for upward of an hour; and, when they came down, Jim Henry went with him as fur as the door. When the stranger had gone, Jim turns to me and stuck out his hand.
"Skipper," says he, grinnin' like a punkin lantern, "shake! I've got it."
"What have you got?" I asked. I was a little mite provoked at bein' sent below so unceremonious. "What have you got—Asiatic cholery? Thought you wouldn't have nothin' to do with Armenians."
"Armenians be hanged!" says he. "That's no Armenian. He's an Indian, a full-blooded Indian, or pretty near it. And his family is about the only full-bloods left. There's a colony of them up the Cape a ways; and it seems that they pick berries in the summer, and put in their winters turnin' out stuff like that centerpiece. He heard about the Exchange, and he's come way down here to see if we bought such things. I told him we bought 'em with bells on, and he'll be back here to-morrow with another load."