By midmorning the toy counter looked like a very small theater. Each wooden top received a circle of felt no bigger than a cookie, and the shopkeeper set them down as if introducing dancers to a floor that had been waiting all night.
We asked at the doorway, where a paper bag rustled like a program. "Mine waited until my finger said hello," a boy reported. "Then it bowed so politely the marble on the next shelf applauded by rolling half an inch."
The keeper keeps a notebook by the till. One careful line reads: please do not spin until the rug has been nodded to; the table prefers a greeting. A geranium in the window leaned in, as if taking attendance.
The next afternoon the same boy came back with his sister. The tops were already practicing: a quiet whirl, a little bow, and then they sat still, saving the encore for whoever remembered to say good afternoon first.