The second story came back in due time, but with the boost still strong in her memory, and with the fifteen dollars in the bank, Connie bore it bravely and started it traveling once more. Most of the stories never did find a permanent lodging place, and Connie carried an old box to the attic for a repository for her mental fruits that couldn't make friends away from home. But she never despaired again.
And the twins, after their own manner, calmly took to themselves full credit for the career which they believed lay not far before her. They even boasted of the way they had raised her and told fatuous and exaggerated stories of their pride in her, and their gentle sisterly solicitude for her from the time of her early babyhood. And Connie gave assent to every word. In her heart she admitted that the twins' discipline of her, though exceedingly drastic at times, had been splendid literary experience.
CHAPTER XV
A MILLIONAIRE'S SON
"IF Jim doesn't ask for a date for the concert next week, Lark, let's snub him good."
"But we both have dates," protested Lark.
"What difference does that make? We mustn't let him get independent. He always has asked one of us, and he needn't think we shall let him off now."
"Oh, don't worry," interrupted Connie. "He always asks. You have that same discussion every time there's anything going on. It's just a waste of time."
Mr. Starr looked up from his mail. "Soup of boys, and salad of boys,—they're beginning to pall on my palate."