We looked at each other, puzzled. “What?” queried Mr. Boggs.
“Tazmun. You know, tazmun.”
“What on earth is tazmun?”
“Tazmun,” she repeated determinedly. “Like whut you keep aroun' you to fotch luck.” Seeing us still at a loss, she sought and evolved an illustration.
“Rabbit foot's a tazmun.”
“Talisman,” I translated in a burst of inspiration.
“Dass it, tazmun.”
“But you can't sell a talisman,” objected the Little Red Doctor.
“Dis tazmun you can,” eagerly asserted Old Sally. “Wuth a heap o' money. My young mist'ess keep it locked up in her jool box. Lawzee! How I has tried to get my han's on'at ol' tazmun lettah.'Cause we sho' need de money fo' it.”
“A letter?”