'Let us do our best for the public while
it pays reasonable prices,' he says, 'and when it won't, let us _do_ the
public.'"
"All that is so low, Mr. Gibbon."
"But it's business, Miss Bessie. Business is low."
"Oh, don't let us talk about it now," Deleah pleads.
"Deleah has a secret. She's dying to tell us all," Deleah's mother said.
"It's something Deleah's been up to!"
"No, Bess. Calm yourself. Calm all yourselves."
"But how can we? Out with it, darling."
"It's nothing, mama."
"Nothing?"
"Only an idea of mine."
"Something you've been and made up, Deda!"
"Something I'm as sure of, Bessie, as I am that you're always dying to
find fault with me. Thank you, Mr. Gibbon, I've got _three_ pieces of
bread already, look!"
"You've handed Deleah bread three times in as many minutes, Mr. Gibbon."
"Hand the bread _only_ to Bessie, Mr. Gibbon. (Mama, I _must_ answer
_sometimes_.")
"We're waiting for the secret, dear."
"It's about our mysterious presents, mama. Mr. Gibbon, you have heard us
talk about our unknown benefactor who loads us with delightful things, and
yet is so ungenerous he won't give us the pleasure of saying 'thank you.'"
Yes. Mr. Gibbon had heard that there was some one who sometimes sent Miss
Deleah flowers.
Pages:
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134