“Tobacco! You heathen! Why, that jar is to hold the ashes of your ancestors!”
“Haven’t any ancestors that had ashes as far as I know,” said Dunk, imperturbably. “I can smoke enough cigar ashes to fill it, though.”
“Hopeless—hopeless,” murmured Ikey. “But look—such a bargain, only seven dollars!”
“Holy mackerel!” cried Andy. “Seven dollars for a tobacco jar!”
“It isn’t a tobacco jar, I tell you!” cried Ikey. “It’s like the old Egyptian tear vawses, only different. Seven dollars—why it’s worth fifteen if it’s worth a cent. Ain’t it, Hashmi?”
“Of a surely, yes,” said the Jap, with an inscrutable smile.
“But he’ll let you have it for just a little more than the wholesale price in Japan, mind you—in Japan!” cried Ikey. “Seven dollars. Think of it!”
“What about your commission?” asked Thad, with a grin.
“A mere nothing—I must live, you know,” and Ikey shrugged his shoulders. “Do you want it, Dunk? Why don’t you fellows pick out something? You’ll wait until they’re gone and be kicking yourselves. They’re dirt cheap—bargains every one. Look at that vawse!” and he held up another to view in the pencil of light from the flash torch.
“It would do for crackers, I suppose,” said Andy, doubtfully.