The Toy Emporium
Only one store along East Sherman Avenue in Coeur d’Alene caught the attention of every child in the passing cars. Large, fancy letters painted with red and outlined in gold curved across the front of the building. They spelled out the words: “Mr. Figgletoes’ Toy Emporium.”
“Stop!” cried Jasmine from the back seat of one of those passing cars. Her hands and face were pressed against the window of the car door.
Startled, Jasmine’s father slammed on the brakes. The car behind them screeched to a stop, swerving to the right to avoid hitting them.
“Jasmine, why did you scream?” said her father, a forced calmness in his voice. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and set his jaw as he glanced over his shoulder toward his eight-year-old daughter.
“I want to go into Mr. Figgletoes’ Toy Emporium,” Jasmine said, folding her arms across her chest with a humph. Her round, blue eyes opened wide as she set her mouth in a firm, well-practiced frown.
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