“The MS. you submitted I have read in due course. With the terrible general depression in trade just now, I am exercising my powers as agent very sparingly, preferring to send all MS. to London for the consideration of the firm there. But from your communication I take it you desire to negotiate for publication of your story without delay. If you will acquaint me with your views as to what [297] ]value you place on your work I will write you further in the matter.
“Faithfully yours,
“James Ledman.”
“Pooh!” said Richie, disappointedly. “There’s nothing there to make a fuss about.”
Even Clif said something about counting chickens too soon, and advised Dolly to put her head under the tap to keep it cool till the “further” letter came.
“It’s not refused,” said Dolly with a deep breath, “that’s all I care about.”
Weenie looked on deprecatingly. “Will it be a really truly book with covers on and everything?” she said. She only extended a kindly contempt to the little magazine.
“Of course it will,” said Dolly, and rose from the floor and sat down on a hall-chair as befitted her new dignity.
“I wouldn’t put your name on it, then,” said Weenie; “people would laugh like anything at a scrap of a girl like you writing a book.”
“Oh, mother!” said Dolly, “you would put your name, wouldn’t you? At first I was going to put ‘White Heather’ or ‘Hyacinth,’ like we did in the paper, but the name looked so nice.”