Another picture he lost. While he was just on the point of pushing the button, a guard clapped one hand over the lens. It was too late to stop, and Philip lost his temper as well as his exposure.
“You can’t take pictures here,” said the guard.
“The superintendent said I could,” said Philip, sharply.
“I beg your pardon,” the guard answered politely.
“That’s all right,” Philip said in a pleasanter tone; “but it doesn’t give me back the negative. Next time, please find out before you interfere.”
In all the foreign exhibits there were seen many objects with which the boys were only too familiar. For instance, looking through the door of a Javanese hut, Harry saw three cheap American clocks, all in a row; and on the veranda of the same house a man was presiding over a sewing-machine plainly inscribed with a well-known American trade-mark. Nevertheless, the little Javanese themselves were unusual enough: the men wore turbans of figured cotton, a tight-fitting jacket, and then, above their trousers, a short skirt or apron that hung about half-way down the thigh. Some also wore above their turbans wide straw hats.
“THE MAN STOOD UP BESIDE HER, AND THEY
WERE PHOTOGRAPHED TOGETHER.”
One of the women had a cute little baby in her arms. Philip put a silver coin into the baby’s hand, and was allowed to take its picture. But the father held the child. Philip said to Harry, as they walked away, “There’s a pretty baby”; then, hearing a gentle chuckle from a motherly-looking woman near him, hastened to add: “For that kind of a baby.”
The party had left their chairs in a corner of the village, and were now on foot. As they walked around the inclosure they saw a woman and girl embroidering upon a veranda. The girl was about twelve or thirteen years old, had a tinge of pink in her cheeks, snappy black eyes, and shiny coarse hair.