“You can open it?” exclaimed Breeze, in great astonishment.
“I t’ink so. Seen plenty all de same like um in de Eas’ Injes.”
“Well, let me see you do it.”
After much fumbling in the thick mat of wool that served him for hair, Nimbus drew from it a pin. With this he began to trace out, carefully and very slowly, the lines of the quaint pattern engraved on the surface of the ball. He followed one of them around and around, in and out, for several minutes, often stopping, going back, and beginning all over again. He did not speak, and Breeze, eagerly watching his movements, was also silent.
At last the movement of the pin was stopped, and on the spot that it indicated the pressure of a thumb-nail released a spring. The upper half of the ball swung on its pivot, and once more its interior was displayed to view.
“Well, if that don’t beat everything!” exclaimed Breeze. “How on earth did you ever learn that trick, Nimbus?”
“Him a labyrim ball,” answered the black man.
“A what?”
“A labyrim. Same like you might get los’ in.”
“Oh, a labyrinth.”