A Bookful Of Girls Part 15

"I'll pay a dollar a line for it! I know a fellow that gets more than that from the magazines. And I'm sure that it will be good if you do it."

"My gracious! that's great pay!" cried Polly, with sparkling eyes, ignoring the compliment, but enchanted to hear what a price verses brought. "I'll send it to you by mail."

"No, I guess I'll look in every once in a while and see how you're getting on!"

"Dear me!" said Polly, "you don't expect me to spend a week over it, do you? That isn't why you offered such high pay?"

"Oh, no; the quicker you got it done the more I should be willing to pay for it." He paused a moment. "And, Miss Fitch," he went on, "I don't care if you make it a little,--well,--a little soft. She deserves it, she's such a tease! Her name's Beatrice," he added. "We call her Trix, if that'll help you any."

Polly understood Mr. Reginald perfectly, and she dismissed him with a twinkle which promised well. Then Polly proceeded to cudgel her brain, while the needle went in and out, and a b.u.t.tonhole formed itself in the firm, narrow line that makes of a b.u.t.tonhole a work of art.

"I wish I could rhyme words as well as I can st.i.tches," Polly thought to herself, as she held up a completed b.u.t.tonhole, with the honest pride of a good workman. "Sixes,--Trixes! that heart were Trix's! That ought to be made to go. A double rhyme, too! I don't believe he expects a double rhyme." And in and out and in and out her thoughts plied themselves round and about the two words, and her cheeks got quite hot with the pleasurable excitement of this new mental exercise.

At last she tossed down her work, and, fetching a piece of brown wrapping-paper, proceeded, with many erasures and tinkerings, to inscribe upon it the following verse:

Were hearts the dice and love the game, Of no avail were double sixes; On every heart is but one name, We nought could throw but _double-Trixes!_

"Rather neat," said Polly to herself, "rather neat! Now if he were to send it with two bunches of roses of six each, I think it could not fail to make an impression. I should rather hate to pay another person to make love for me, though," she went on, with a little toss of the head; and then she picked up her work and began again to "rhyme b.u.t.tonholes."

When Dan came home to supper he had much to learn. He was lost in wonder over the rhyme which Polly repeated to him, but still more impressed by the four great silver dollars she had to show; for her impatient customer had already called for the verses.

"Jiminy!" cried Dan; "that's most a week's earnings for some of us!"

"Yes," Polly replied, demurely; "that's what Mrs. O'Toole would have paid me for sixteen baby-dresses. Things even themselves out in the long run, don't they, Dan?" As though Polly knew anything about the long run, by the way!

Before Christmas Polly was driving a pretty trade, not only in ideas but in sewing. She had in all ten dozen pocket handkerchiefs to mark for Christmas customers, besides towels and table-linen, sheets and pillow-cases. People had found her out, and she had to refuse more than one good order for lack of time. But needlework alone, quick as she was in doing it, would have given her but a meagre income, had she not been able to furnish "also ideas."

One lady, for instance, came to ask her for an "idea" for a Thanksgiving dinner, and Polly not only suggested the idea, but carried it out for her. She went about with a big basket to all the markets and collected perfect specimens of vegetables with which to make a centrepiece for the dinner table. The dinner was given in a house where the round dining table would seat twenty-four guests. In this ample centre she erected a pyramid of fruits of the earth. There were crimson beets, pale yellow squashes, scarlet tomatoes, and the long, thin fingers of the string-bean; potatoes furnished a comfortable brown, which, together with the soft bronze of the onion, harmonized discordant colours; and, crowning all, the silken ta.s.sel of the red-eared corn raised its graceful crest.

The hostess was delighted with her table, and more delighted still with the pretty decorator. Polly's fame flew from one to another throughout that kindly and prosperous community, and she found herself acc.u.mulating a goodly h.o.a.rd. As Christmas drew near, many a perplexed shopper came to her for "ideas," and all went away content. She had long since discovered that the Colorado shops were treasure-houses of pretty things. She never pa.s.sed a jeweller's window without taking note of his latest novelties; she kept an eye upon Mexican and Indian bazaars, and Chinese bric-a-brac collections; she made a study of Colorado gems, and knew where the prizes lay hidden; she ran through the books in the bookstores; she was alert for new inventions in harness decoration and bridle tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs; she gave hints for fancy-work of divers kinds.

Mercury, meanwhile, sped about the town, dispensing healing, as Polly often reminded him, and "getting more than I dispense, Polly," he would declare in return. "I feel so well that everything is a regular lark!"

And so Dan made a "lark" of his work, and trotted all day in his capacity of Mercury, little dreaming of the wealth that was acc.u.mulating for his use; while Polly went on with her h.o.a.rding, of which she made a great secret, and thought of a still better time coming.

CHAPTER III

A MERRY CHRISTMAS

Of all Polly's new friends, not one took a warmer interest in the young idea-vendor than that first customer of hers, Miss Beatrice Compton. Miss Beatrice was a warm-hearted and enthusiastic girl, who never did anything by halves; and when she talked of Polly, of Polly's skill and of Polly's originality, when she extolled Polly's eyes and Polly's hair, Polly's wit and Polly's sweetness, few listeners remained quite unmoved and incurious. Among the many who were thus stirred to seek out this youthful paragon, was Miss Compton's brother-in-law, Mr. Horace Clapp. Nor was an idle curiosity his only motive in taking the step. Beneath the pretext he found for paying the visit lurked a rather shamefaced purpose of doing this "plucky little genius" a good turn.

It happened, therefore, one morning in December, that Polly came home from her marketing to find a stranger sitting in her porch. A dog-cart, driven by a groom in livery, was pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing her door; and one look at the occupant of the porch sufficed to fix the connection between the two. He was a well-dressed man of thirty or more, who rose as she opened the gate and saluted her as if she had been a d.u.c.h.ess.

"Miss Polly Fitch?" he inquired, as he stood before her, hat in hand.

It was noticeable that no one ever omitted the "Polly" from the girl's name. It seemed as much a part of her as the ruddy hair and the dimple in her chin. That dimple, by the way, should have been mentioned long ago; but that, in its turn, was so essential a feature, that one would as soon think it necessary to state that Polly's nose had an upward tilt as that her chin had a dimple. Any one who had ever heard of Polly must know that her nose would tilt and her chin have a dimple.

Polly had a large market-basket on her arm, and as she felt in her pocket for the key to the front door, her visitor took possession of the basket. She was a good deal impressed by the attention from so magnificent a personage, and one, moreover, of advanced years. She began to think that she must be mistaken about his being thirty; why, that was Cousin John's age, and Cousin John was quite an oldish man.

She motioned her visitor to enter, and it must be admitted that there was no oppressive reverence in her tone as she said:

"If you would tell me _your_ name, now we should be starting fair!"

"My name is Horace Clapp. Did you ever hear of me?"

"No, I don't think so. Ought I to have?"

"Well, no, there's no obligation in the matter. I only had an idea that I was a local celebrity, like you."

"Like me?"

"Yes! You're a surprise to the town and so am I."

"What have you done to surprise the town?" asked Polly, filled with curiosity.

"I've only got rich very fast."

"Why, so have I!" said Polly. "We _are_ a good deal alike."

"Really? Then you will be in an even better position to advise me than I thought for."

"I _supposed_ you had come for an idea," said Polly, as naturally as if her wares had consisted in tape and b.u.t.tons.

Offering her visitor the only fairly comfortable chair in the room, she seated herself by the window, near which was one of the draped barrels with her work-basket on top.

"You won't mind my sewing, please," she said, picking up a bit of embroidery; "I can think better that way."

The new customer meanwhile was wondering whether Miss Polly would guess that he had come partly from curiosity, and partly with that other far more daring motive of finding a way to do her a service.

And yet, who could tell? Perhaps she _could_ give him a hint; perhaps she _was_ the youthful sibyl people seemed half inclined to believe her.

"Miss Polly," he said, leaning forward in his chair, with his elbows on his knees,--"Miss Polly, I've got an awful lot of money, and I don't know what to do with it."

Mere words had not often the power of staying Polly's needle, but at this astounding declaration she actually let her work fall in her lap, and gazed with wide-eyed wonder at the speaker.

"Yes," he went on, "I really want to do some good with it, and I've tried in lots of ways and I've never hit it off. I should just like to tell you about some of the things I've made a fizzle of in the last year,--if it wouldn't bore you?"

"Oh, no, it wouldn't bore me; nothing ever does. Only,--I can't understand it. Why, I think I could give away _a thousand dollars a year_ just there at home, where we used to live, and every dollar of it would be well spent!"

"Yes, Miss Polly," he said very meekly, "but, you see, what I've got to consider is _two hundred thousand_ dollars a year!"

He looked positively ashamed of himself, and Polly did not wonder. She had given a little gasp at mention of the sum; then she shook her head with decision. Polly knew her limits.

"I haven't any ideas big enough for that" she said. "I should as soon think of advising the President of the United States!"

"Well, if you won't advise me about mine, perhaps you will tell me what you are going to do with your own riches. You said you were getting rich, did you not? You know," he added, "it isn't necessary to make the map of a State as big as the State itself."