She was engrossed in the management of the silly old horse, scanning the road for anything that might disturb its absurd old nerves, sternly resolved that it shouldn’t over-exert itself. She was convinced that she had a most high-strung, mettlesome animal to handle.
At last she reached the village and drove regally along the Main Street, bowing right and left to the tradespeople, almost all of them her grandmother’s creditors.
She stopped in front of the up-to-date office building, leaving Bess in charge of a reliable little boy in spectacles, personally known to her, then she climbed the stairs and knocked on Mr. Petersen’s door.
He was delighted to see her, drew forward a chair and sat down opposite her with a pleasant smile.
“It’s something new to see you here,” he said. “The first time, isn’t it?”
Minnie said it was.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said appealingly, hesitatingly, “I know I shouldn’t take up your time, but—I don’t know anyone else I could possibly ask——”
“I’m only too happy,” he assured her. “What can I do?”
“Your advice,” she said. “I—things aren’t going—very well.... I wanted to put this in a New York paper. But I didn’t know which was the best, the most—respectable. If you think it’s.... Would you just please look at it?”
She had taken a piece of paper from her shabby little purse and now handed it to him. He read it, read it again, and his face grew scarlet.