"Are these rotten oysters?" she demanded hopefully.

"No," he answered, laughing. "Certainly not."

"Have you got any rotten ones?"

"No, we don't keep that kind." He was still laughing.

The twins sighed and hurried next door to the grocer's.

"A nickel's worth of pepper--the strongest you have."

This was quickly settled--and the grave-faced twins betook themselves
to the corner drug store.

"We--we want something with a perfectly awful smell," Lark explained
soberly.

"What kind of a smell?"

"We don't care what kind, but it must be perfectly sickening. Like
something rotten, or dead, if you have it. Something that will stay
smelly for several hours,--but it mustn't be dangerous, of course."

"What do you want it for?"

"We want it to put in a room to give it a horrible smell for an hour or
so." Lark winked at him solemnly. "It's a joke," she further
elucidated.