“Lord! they’re a sad lot,” he exclaimed.
“What makes them sad?” she inquired.
“Kids like you.”
They finished the first consignment without any luck, and went to the second place. It was simply a repetition. Isabelle seemed to sense their adhesion to type, for she finally burst out with:
“Wally, I’d like one with a wart on the nose.”
He finally approached the woman in charge.
“Look here,” he said, “we want a young one, with some pep.”
The woman stared in amazement.
“Isn’t there some place where the new ones go to register?” he continued.