For instance, there was the time she tried to cheer Tippy up with her “line to live by,” and her efforts were neither appreciated nor understood. And there was the time only yesterday when she stayed with Aunt Elspeth, and got into trouble with the eggs, and now had a debt on her conscience equal to eight eggs or twenty cents.
It showed how well Mr. Locke understood children when he did not laugh over the recital of that last calamity, although it sounded unspeakably funny to him as Georgina told it. In such congenial company the time flew so fast that Georgina was amazed when Mr. Milford drove up to take his distinguished guest away. Mr. Locke took with him what he had hoped to get, a number of sketches to fill in at his leisure.
“They’re exactly what I wanted,” he assured her gratefully as he shook hands at parting. “And that suggestion of yours for the ship will make the most fetching illustration of all. I’ll send you a copy in oils when I get time for it, and I’ll always think of you, my little friend, as _Georgina of the Rainbows_.”
With a courtly bow he was gone, and Georgina went into the house to look for the little blank book in which she had started to keep her two lists of Club members, honorary and real. The name of Milford Norris Locke she wrote in both lists. If there had been a third list, she would have written him down in that as the very nicest gentleman she had ever met. Then she began a letter to Barby, telling all about her wonderful morning. But it seemed to her she had barely begun, when Mr. Milford’s chauffeur came driving back with something for her in a paper bag. When she peeped inside she was so astonished she nearly dropped it.
“Eggs!” she exclaimed. Then in unconscious imitation of Mrs. Saggs, she added, “Can you beat _that_!”
One by one she took them out and counted them. There were exactly eight. Then she read the card which had dropped down to the bottom of the bag.
“Mr. Milford Norris Locke.”
Above the name was a tiny rainbow done in water colors, and below was scribbled the words, “Last tag.”
It was a pity that the new member could not have seen her face at that instant, its expression was so eloquent of surprise, of pleasure and of relief that her trouble had thus been wiped out of existence.