“We seldom see the usual tramp around here,” said Ruth, shaking her head. “We are too far off the railroad line. And the Cheslow constables keep them moving if they land there.”
“Could anybody have done it for a joke?” asked Tom suddenly.
“If they have,” Ruth said, wiping her eyes, “it is the least like a joke of anything that ever happened to me. Why, Tom! I couldn’t lay out that scenario again, and think of all the details, and get it just so, in a year!”
“Oh, Ruth!”
“I mean it! And even my notes are gone. Oh, dear! I’d never have the heart to write that scenario again. I don’t know that I shall ever write another, anyway. I’m discouraged,” sobbed the girl suddenly.
“Oh, Ruth! don’t give way like this,” he urged, with rather a boyish fear of a girl’s tears.
“I’ve given way already,” she choked. “I just feel that I’ll never be able to put that scenario into shape again. And I’d written Mr. Hammond so enthusiastically about it.”
“Oh! Then he knows all about it!” said Tom. “That is more than any of us do. You wouldn’t tell us a thing.”
“And I didn’t tell him. He doesn’t know the subject, or the title, or anything about it. I tell you, Tom, I had such a good idea——”
“And you’ve got the idea yet, haven’t you? Cheer up! Of course you can do it over.”