“Is it? I rather think its mine, though. Why don’t you look where you’re going?”
“How can I see through three brown papers and a rusty black silk handkerchief?”
“Ain’t there a hole in any of ‘em?”
“No.”
“That’s a pity; but when you’ve been here as long as I have, the moths will help you a bit.”
“Will they?”
“Certainly.”
“I hope not.”
“Hope if you like; but you’ll find I’m right.”
“I trust I didn’t hurt you much.”