“How much you give, Mister?” asked the man.
No answer.
“I’ll make it five dollars this time, Mister,” cried the man. Still receiving no answer, he came after us. “But give me your price, Mister.”
“Fifty cents,” said my father.
“Ough, that won’t pay even the express. Give me a dollar, then.”
But my father was already some distance away. The man, growing desperate to lose him, cried aloud:
“Mi-ster, you can have it for the price. This is the first one I have sold this evening. I must start the sale, anyway.”
So my father came into possession of one more potted tree. The price was low, to be sure, but the man did not undersell his goods.
There seemed to be nothing now to do but to wend our way home as my father turned round at the corner and came down with the crowd. We passed toy booths, basket booths, booths where hairpins with beautiful artificial flowers were sold, or where all sorts of fans, bamboo screens, and sundry other things were for sale. And we passed them apparently without any interest, at least on my father’s part. I was wondering what my father would buy for me, when whom should I meet but my aunt and Tomo-chan just going round the street in the other way? I spoke with Tomo-chan while my father and aunt were exchanging some remarks—possibly about the potted tree.