Here Tavia again entered her wailing protest:
“I did not mean to take her bag from the counter. But somebody has taken my bag.”
“Oh, Tavia!” exclaimed her friend, now startled into noticing what Tavia really said about it.
“It’s gone!” wailed Tavia. “And all the money father sent me. Oh, dear, Doro Dale! I guess I have thrown my money away, and, as you prophesied, it isn’t as much fun as I thought it might be.”
“My dear young lady,” hastily inquired Mr. Schuman, “have you really lost your purse?”
“My bag,” sobbed Tavia. “I laid it down while I examined some silk. That clerk saw me,” she added, pointing to the man behind the counter.
“It is true, Mr. Schuman,” the silk clerk admitted, blushing painfully. “But, of course, I did not notice what became of the lady’s bag.”
“Nor did I see the other bag until I found it in my hand,” Tavia cried.
The crowd was dissipated by this time, and all spoke in low voices. Outside the counter was a cash-girl, a big-eyed and big-eared little thing, who was evidently listening curiously to the conversation. Mr. Mink said sharply to her:
“Number forty-seven! do you know anything about this bag business?”