"Do, Cupid dear," urged Win. "But you shan't lose by that. I know you meant no harm, and I'll give you fifty cents myself when I get my pay."
"What kind of a jay do you take me for?" snorted Cupid. "Men don't accept no lucre from ladies where I live. I'll go chuck the guy back his marshmallers and his dirty money, since you put it that way, my baby doll."
"
Where is he? Waiting for you somewhere to hear the news?"
Cupid tossed his curls in the direction of the moving staircase, which in Toyland was known as the "Oscillator." A bored-looking youth was stationed officially at the top in order to catch any ascending lady who might threaten to fall; but as only the oldest and frailest ever did so, his bored expression had become chronic.
"Chap's down at the foot o' that," confessed the boy. "But say, won't you just look and see if there's a note under the cover? Maybe he's slipped in a Christmas gift of a hundred-dollar bill or a diamond tiarey."
"I've no curiosity," said Win. "You may tell your friend that, and––"
"Oh, I know! Tell him he'd darned better not try the same snap again."
"Yes," laughed Win. "Exactly."
Cupid darted away with the box, striding down the "osculator" as it came rolling up, a feat forbidden. But the boy was a law unto himself and was seldom scolded. When he had gone Win wished that she had thought to ask how the man had found out her liking for marshmallows But perhaps he had invited a suggestion from Cupid. Or the marshmallows might be a coincidence.