He turned around.
"Do you know those ladies, Mr.Frowenfeld?
Do you visit them at home ?" He drew out his porte-monnaie.
"No, sir." "I will pay you for the repair of this instrument; have you change for--" "I will see," said the apothecary.
As he spoke he laid the purse on a stool, till he should light his shop, and then went to his till without again taking it.
The Creole sauntered across to the counter and nipped the herb which still lay there.
"Mr.Frowenfeld, you know what some very excellent people do with this?
They rub it on the sill of the door to make the money come into the house." Joseph stopped aghast with the drawer half drawn.
"Not persons of intelligence and--" "All kinds.

It is only some of the foolishness which they take from the slaves.

Many of your best people consult the voudou horses." "Horses ?" "Priestesses, you might call them," explained the Creole, "like Momselle Marcelline or 'Zabeth Philosophe." "Witches!" whispered Frowenfeld.
"Oh no," said the other with a shrug; "that is too hard a name; say fortune-tellers.

But Mr.Frowenfeld, I wish you to lend me your good offices.

Just supposing the possi_bil_ity that that lady may be in need of money, you know, and will send back or come back for the purse, you know, knowing that she most likely lost it here, I ask you the favor that you will not let her know I have filled it with gold.