"For a hand-painted picture," said Rara, "it's very cheap. Say, half a unit?"
"It's pretty," said the woman, then caught the frown on the man's face. She dropped her eyes and shook her head.
Suddenly the man, from somewhere, thrust a half-unit piece into Rara's hand. "Here." He took the picture and handed it to his wife. As she looked at it, he nodded his head. "It is pretty," he said. "Yes. It is."
"Good luck here in the New World," commented Rara. "Welcome to the Island of Opportunity." Turning, she drew out the next gee-gaw her hand touched, glanced at it long enough to see what it was, and said to the man she now faced. "I see you could certainly use a spool of fine thread to good purpose." She pointed to a hole in his sleeve. "There." A brown shoulder showed through his shirt, further up. "And there."
"I could use a needle too," he answered her. "And I could use a new shirt, and a bucket of gold." Suddenly he spat. "I've as much chance of getting one as the other with what I've got in my pocket."
"Oh, surely a spool of fine, strong thread ..."
Suddenly someone pushed her from behind. "All right. Move on, lady. You can't peddle here."
"I certainly can," exclaimed Rara, whirling. "I've got my license right here. Just let me find it now...."
"Nobody has a license to peddle in front of the immigration building. Now move on."
"Good luck in the New Land," she called over her shoulder as the officer forced her away. "Welcome to the Island of Opportunity!"