“Well, give me ten cents, anyway,” Lena answered with unexpected submission.
“What do you want it for?”
“Please, mammy,” Lena said coaxingly. “I won’t buy cream-cakes or anything to eat. I want to invest in a gold mine.”
Mrs. Quincy gave her a sharp look and grudgingly handed out a dime; for Lena’s voice was instinct with hope, and hope was such a rare visitor in the dingy little lodgings that Mrs. Quincy grew generous under its magnetic warmth.
“Now what’d you want that ten cents for?” she asked curiously when the girl came back. “My land! Only paper and pencil? I thought you was going to do something grand.”
CHAPTER VII
LENA’S PROGRESS
About a month after Lena had made her investment in the raw materials of the writer’s art, Dick Percival happened to drop into the sooty and untidy office where for more than a year Norris had been engaged in manufacturing public opinion.