There was evidently more in the remark than met the ear. The boy flew at
the oranges with the enthusiasm of a ferret finding a rabbit family at
home after a long day of fruitless subterranean research. Almost at the
same moment the bearded stranger stalked into the shop, and flung an
order for a pound of dates and a tin of the best Smyrna halva across the
counter. The most adventurous housewife in the locality had never heard
of halva, but Mr. Scarrick was apparently able to produce the best Smyrna
variety of it without a moment's hesitation.
"We might be living in the Arabian Nights," said Miss Fritten, excitedly.
"Hush! Listen," beseeched Mrs. Greyes.
"Has the dark-faced boy, of whom I spoke yesterday, been here to-day?"
asked the stranger.
"We've had rather more people than usual in the shop to-day," said Mr.
Scarrick, "but I can't recall a boy such as you describe."
Mrs. Greyes and Miss Fritten looked round triumphantly at their friends.
It was, of course, deplorable that any one should treat the truth as an
article temporarily and excusably out of stock, but they felt gratified
that the vivid accounts they had given of Mr. Scarrick's traffic in
falsehoods should receive confirmation at first hand.
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