He was offered iron crosses worked on matchboxes, on cigarette lighters,
on ladies' chains.

"But are they genuine?"

He did not know quite what he meant.

"I don't suppose them to be taken from a dead man's neck, but are they
genuine?"

In the streets the Germans sold iron crosses from job lots on barrows
for ten francs each.

"But I will get one cheaper!" said the Bearskin, and clambered up the
steps into shop after shop. He found an iron cross on a chain for seven
francs. No one knew what the mark was worth, and the three men, with the
German salesman, bent over the counter adding and subtracting on paper.

"How can a goblin countryside breed people who sell iron crosses at ten
francs each?" wondered Fanny.

There was a notice on the other side of the street, "Y.M.C.A., two doors
down the street on your left," and the thin man stood in the door of the
shop beside Fanny and pointed to it.

"Couldn't you go there and get me cigars? They will be very cheap. Have
you money with you?"

"I'll try," said Fanny, "I've money. We can settle afterwards," inwardly