IN OLD TRINITY.
“Flowers? Flowers? Chrysanthemums? Any, madam?”
“How much?”
“Seventy-five cents apiece.”
“Girl, you must be crazy! I’ll give you ten.”
Beatrice turned on her heel with all her native dignity and some that
she had prepared for this especial occasion; having confided her
intention to the newspaper-woman on the corner, who also occasionally
sold flowers, and received the advice to “not be beat down by nobody.
Some is ladies an’ some is trash, what goes a shopping on th’ Aveny,
an’ you jest hold on patient,--the right one’ll come along an’ take the
hull lot, mebbe. Some woman ’at’s goin’ ter give a party er sunthin’ is
the most like ter buy; er young gells. Young gells is good customers,
if they happen ter have any money. Good luck go with you, honey; an’ I
don’t want ter see you bringin’ home a single posy!”
With this good-speed sounding pleasantly in her unaccustomed ears, the
novice at flower selling set her face westward with her basket on her
arm and her small brother presumably following her; though, as he was
sometimes in sight but oftener not, she had doubts on the subject.
“Anyway I only wanted him for company. It seems so--so sort of dreadful
to do this. I tremble every time I open my mouth, and I am afraid I
shall not sell a single blossom, except at the flower-shop. I hate to
go there, though! It seems so mean to sell things that have been given
you, and when you can have no chance to explain, though, of course, I
wouldn’t explain anyway. Robert!”
“Hi! Here am I!”
“Why can’t you walk along beside me respectably? Eh?”
“Wull, wull--why, Bon! what makes you look that way?”
“What way?”
“Just as if you was a-goin’ ter cry.”
“I don’t. I’m not. I--I hate it!”
“What makes you, then?”
“I hate other things worse, like Mother’s pale face over her work.
I don’t mean I hate, but-- Oh! I thought it would be easy, last
night when we talked it over, and it isn’t. I expect every minute
to meet some of the ‘Conservatory girls,’ then I should about die of
mortification.”
“Well, I’m beat! If girls ain’t the queerest things! A wantin’ ter do
things an’ not a wantin’ ter at the same time. Here, give me a bunch.
I’ll show you. This is the way! Flowers! _Flowers!_ Here they go!
Nicest an’ puttiest chrysms in the city! Cheap at seventy-five cents!
Only one place in town where a feller can get ’em! Here, young feller!
Don’t you want a button-holer?”
“Too dear!” replied the good-natured clerk whom Robert had intercepted
on his way down town.
“H’m-m. You don’t seem to succeed any better than I do, Bob.
Chrysanthemums! The rarest shade in the city!”
The two amateur flower-sellers had soon traversed all the distance
between their home and the very corner where their stock had been
purchased, and yet not one blossom had been exchanged for the desired
cash that was to buy the oyster dinner. When they came to the place
where Bonny had met Mr. Brook she paused, undecided whether to cross
into the next block or to take her stand there; but was finally decided
to do the latter by the fact that a well-dressed woman had paused
to examine the cluster of flowers and to admire them. She would even
have bought one apparently, but as she opened her purse, Bonny gently
mentioned the price, and the purse was closed with a snap.
“Sev-en-ty-five-cents! I think you must be new to the business, or you
would never ask such an absurd amount as that! H’m-m. Seventy-five
cents for one chrysanthemum!” And the woman with the plethoric
pocket-book had passed on.
“I’m going into the store. I can’t bear this!” cried poor Beatrice,
feeling utterly discouraged as her bright castle in the air fell
tumbling in ruins. “They will take them, anyway, I’m sure. The clerk
said yesterday to a customer that he could not supply the demand for
blossoms of this shade. Come on, Bob! The worst he can do is stare a
little, and it’s none of his business, certainly.” Thus swallowing her
pride, which she felt was silly enough, Beatrice led the way into the
shop which she had visited in Mr. Brook’s company the day before.
Robert followed, whistling gayly. Anything which kept him from school
was matter of rejoicing to him, and though he realized that they were
having very hard luck he felt no more shame in selling posies than
newspapers; but his hilarity was suddenly checked by the dandified
salesman calling out sharply: “Out of here, boy! We can’t have any boys
in here!”
“I should like ter know why not? What yer givin’ us?” demanded Bonny’s
“darling,” with all the roughness and assurance of a regular street
gamin.
“Hush, dear! Here, let me take yours, too. You just step outside and
wait for me till I come. I won’t be a minute now,” whispered the
sister, persuasively.
But “Humpty-Dumpty’s” blood was up. What were stores for if not for
people to enter? How did that unmannerly clerk know but that he,
Robert, wanted to buy out all the stock piled upon those loaded
counters? He’d show him! One man was as good as another, in this world.
“No, I won’t wait, neither. I’m a-goin’ where you go, an’ I’m goin’ ter
stay as long as I like. Say, boss! How much fer them roses, yonder?”
“Clear out of here, you impudent little scalliwag! You wish to buy no
roses.”
“No. But I wish to sell some chrysanthemums, sir,” interposed Beatrice,
gently. “These flowers were purchased here yesterday. I should like to
resell them to you.”
The dapper young man who had glanced admiringly at the pretty girl
on the occasion of her previous visit, under Mr. Brook’s escort, now
stared at her superciliously. “Bought here? Ah! Well, we never take
second-hand goods, you know. And flowers are an article that could not
be handled a second time, even if we did. Is that all?”
“But, sir, you told a lady, yesterday, that you could not supply the
demand for this color. I have kept these very carefully. See? They are
not withered in the least.”
“Impossible, Miss. If that boy belongs to you, you had better take him
outside before he gets into any further mischief. He has knocked down a
pile of baskets already, and if he damages--”
Poor Bonny did not wait to hear the conclusion of the matter. With a
desperate fear at her heart that her small and independent brother
would be the cause of some dreadful trouble, she seized him firmly by
the collar and forced him before her out of the shop.
The door closed behind them with the dull thud which baize-muffled
doors give, and it seemed to her sounded the knell of her “flowery
hopes,” as she herself grimly expressed it.
“Well, I say, Bon! I did think you had some snap! What’d a feller
do if he hadn’t no more grit’n a girl, I’d like to know? Here, come
on, I’ll show you. Let’s go over to the hotel there. That’s the Fifth
Avenue, where rich folks stays. I’ve sold papers for Jeemsy there,
sometimes. They’s a decent crowd goes in an’ out. Mebbe they ain’t all
so horrid stingy as they ’pear ter be on this side. But, Bon! We’ll
have ter come down on the price. They ain’t nobody, ’less he’s jest
another such old man as Mr. Brook, goin’ ter pay such a pile as that
fer posies--second-hand ones, too.”
“Robert, where did you get all this wisdom, and you but eight?”
“Oh! I’ve been around,” said Robert, with an inimitable little swagger,
which brought a fleeting smile to Beatrice’s face.
“All right. Let’s try the hotel, that is, if the people will let us.
I think I have heard that the curbstone merchants--as we are now,
dear--have each a self-appropriated place with which he allows nobody
else to interfere. We may get upon somebody’s ‘stand,’ but if we
do, from our morning’s experience, I don’t fear but we shall be so
informed.”
They did take their places opposite the entrance to the hotel, and so
respectable and quiet-looking were they that nobody molested them; and
as they were the only flower-sellers upon that corner they did after a
while exchange some of their wares for cash; but it was, as Robert had
advised, at a great reduction, and Beatrice was heartily discouraged.
Worse than that, a feeling of regret that she had undertaken this thing
without her mother’s knowledge and consent began to trouble her as it
had not done while the first enthusiasm of unselfishness lasted.
“I wish--I wish I had not slipped out of the house, as if I were doing
something wrong!” murmured the girl, half aloud.
“Hey?” asked Robert. “Ain’t it getting cold? Ginger! My toes is ’most
froze. This ain’t half the fun newspapers is. A feller can keep warm
that way. He can jump on street-cars, and off when the conductor
catches him. Let’s go home!”
“You go, dear, if you are cold. I am not. That is I--I-- No, I will not
give up beaten this way. I will sell these flowers if--”
“You can!” interjected Robert, just in time to prevent Bonny’s making a
very rash vow.
She substituted a rather forced laugh for the vow, and again urged
her brother to go and leave her. “There is no need for us both to be
miserable. Besides, if you should take cold I should never forgive
myself. Do go; there’s a dear, and I am ever and ever so grateful to
you for what you have already done.”
“No, sir-ee. I guess I’ve got grit if you haven’t. But if you don’t
mind I’ll just run around the block ter start my toes up, an’ I’ll be
back so’s you can run, too.”
Off bounded the child, and, small as he was, Beatrice felt no fear that
he would be lost even in a neighborhood of which he knew so little; but
as she watched him out of sight, a voice spoke in her ear.
“What lovely, lovely chrysanthemums! Are they for sale, miss?”
“H’m-m. She doesn’t think I look like a regular flower-girl,” thought
Bonny, complacently, and answered promptly: “Yes, madam. They are, as
you have noticed, a very peculiar shade.” Then she raised her eyes, and
met--those of the richest girl in her class at the Conservatory, the
very one who was to sing with her at the next reception.
“Goodness! Miss Beckwith! Beg pardon! I did not notice. I thought it
was a flower-girl standing here.”
Beatrice gasped, tried to smile, felt her face flame, and her
courage--or temper, she didn’t know which--rise at the same time.
“There is no mistake, Miss Agnew. I _am_, temporarily, a flower-girl.
These chrysanthemums _are_ for sale. But I have had rather bad luck.
They prove to be a more expensive sort than most passers-by care for.”
Miss Agnew’s own color rose a little. She was a gentle, high-bred girl,
and she saw at once that there was something out of the common in her
classmate’s action. If the flowers had cost all there was in her purse,
she would have taken some of them then. “Indeed? I have never seen any
like them, except at the show last week. How much are they?”
“They cost seventy-five cents each, yesterday, and I was told they were
prize flowers. They are--anything I can get for them--now!”
“Oh! I don’t call that high! I often have to pay a dollar or more for
roses at holiday time. Of the sort I like. I think these would just
suit Mamma. I will take a dozen, please. I was sorry you were not at
class to-day. The Professor went over our duet with me, and I gathered
some new ideas from him. He is very anxious it should be a success; and
naturally I am. Will you be there next lesson?”
“Yes, I think so. At least, I shall not be absent for the same reason
as to-day,” said Beatrice, with a return of something like her natural
manner.
“That’s good! I can sing so much better with you than with anybody
else,” remarked Miss Agnew, smiling pleasantly, nodding cordially, and
passing onward immediately.
“Well! I’m in for it now! If Helen Agnew is inclined to tell, the whole
class can ‘point the finger of scorn’ at me to-morrow. But how cold it
is! How warm _she_ looked! She had evidently been having luncheon at
this great hotel, for she came out, or rather she walked along with
a ‘rocky’-looking old gentleman, using a toothpick. I suppose he was
her father. How nice it must be to have a father! And think of being
able, a school-girl, out of one’s own pocket money, to buy a dozen
chrysanthemums for one’s mother--at such a price! Yet, after all,
selling them for one’s mother may be just as noble. I’ll ‘play pretend’
it is, any way. And I am quite refreshed. I’ll ‘buckle tae’ with a good
will now! There are only twenty-five left; and--”
Beatrice fell to ruminating. She forgot that she was on a street
corner, presumably to sell flowers. She paid no attention to the rude
pushes and jostles that she received, but swayed this way and that,
accommodating her slight person to the needs of the crowd, till one
more urgent pedestrian than the others suddenly caught the handle of
his walking-stick in that of her basket and ruthlessly tore it from her
grasp.
Beatrice aroused herself with a scream. “My flowers! Oh, my flowers!
Please, please, don’t tread upon them, people! Please give me time to--”
“Eh! Bon, what’s the matter? Who took ’em? This chap?” demanded Robert,
who had returned, and eagerly catching hold of the wrong person. “Look
a here, man! You’d better look out how you steal my sister’s chrysms!
I’ll let you know I-- Ginger! There’s the old fellow himself!”
Alas! the inevitable crowd! Nobody can utter a sound above the natural,
but dozens of itching ears must pause to learn why.
“Beg pardon, Miss. It was an accident. I am extremely sorry. Are they
injured? Ah! I see. Hopelessly. The price, please, I will make good the
loss; but I am in a hurry-- Yes, Dolloway, directly. Keep close to me,
Dolloway. I’ll look out for you. Eh? Hey? What?”
Bonny was stooping to gather up her ruined treasure, but something in
the voice startled her, a peculiar softness of the _r_’s, and a broad
inflection of the _a_’s.
“It is the corner of Fate!” cried the girl, recklessly, and lifted
herself face to face with Mr. Chidly Brook.
“Why, Miss Beckwith! It is, indeed!”