“What’s this—a handkerchief box?” asked Ted, picking up one covered with black and gold lacquer.
“Handkerchief box! Shades of Koami!” cried Ikey. “That, you dunce, is a box made to——Oh, you tell him, Hashmi, I haven’t the heart.”
“No, he wants to figure out how much he’s made on us,” added Andy.
“That box—he is for the retaining of the messages from the departed,” explained the Japanese.
“You mean it’s a spiritualist cabinet?” demanded Thad. “I say now, will it do the rapping trick?”
“You misapprehend me,” murmured Hashmi. “I mean that you conserve in that the letters your ancestors may have written you. But of a courseness you might put in it your nose beautifiers if you wish, and perfume them.”
“Nose beautifiers—he means handkerchiefs,” explained Ikey. “It’s a bargain—only three dollars.”
“I’ll take it,” spoke Thad. “I know a girl I can give it to. No objection to putting a powder puff in it; is there, Hashmi?”
“Of a surely, no.”
More of the wares from the big box were displayed and the two other lads took something. Then Dunk insisted on having another look, and bought several “vawses,” as Ikey insisted on calling them.