Jewel's little handkerchief was wet and Mr. Evringham put his own into her hand and they went into the lavatory where she used the wet corner of a towel while he told her about the photographer who had taken Essex Maid's picture and should take Star's.
Then the cherished leghorn hat was rescued from its ignominy and replaced carefully on its owner's head.
"But I never thought you meant to have my picture taken this afternoon," said Jewel, her lips still somewhat tremulous.
"I didn't until a minute ago, but I think we can find somebody who won't mind doing it late in the day."
"Yours too, then, grandpa.—Oh, yes," and at last a smile beamed like the sun out of an April sky, "right on the same card with me!"
"Oh, no, no, Jewel; no, no!"
"Yes, please, grandpa," earnestly, "do let's have one nice nose in the picture!" She lifted eyes veiled again with a threatening mist. "And you'll put your arm around me—and then I'll look at it"—her lip twitched.
"Yes, oh, yes, I—I think so," hastily. "We'll see, and then, after that—how much Nesselrode pudding do you think you can eat? I tell you, Jewel, we're going to have the time of our lives!" Mr. Evringham struck his hands together with such lively anticipation that the child's spirits rose.
"Yes," she responded, "and then after dinner, what?" She gazed at him.
The broker tapped his forehead as if knocking at the door of memory.