But it was of no use. The defiance faded soon, and a whimsical humility took its place. “I’m sorry, I’m awfully sorry, dear, that I didn’t mind you. I’m sorry I didn’t let the dear old fellow lie there to be hurt. I— No, I don’t mean that. But I’ll try to behave next time. I truly will.”
“H’m-m!” replied Isabelle; and vouchsafed nothing further till they had reached their home, a cosey if small and plainly furnished “flat” at the location which Bonny had given Mr. Brook.
That old gentleman, left in the flower-store after his young rescuer had departed, turned at once to the clerk. “I saw the child cast her eyes rather longingly, I thought, upon that vase of salmon-colored artemisias. Are they for sale?”
“Certainly,” replied the attendant, and moved the vase forward upon the counter. “They are the same thing as artemisias, sir, but the popular name is chrysanthemum. These are prize flowers, from the late show. A rare color. One of our own originating.”
“H’m-m, h’m-m. Very pretty, but roses suit me better. However, she looked at these more than she did at the roses and pinks, and I’ll take them. How much are they?”
“Seventy-five cents each.”
“W-h-a-t? How—much?”
“Seventy-five cents each. Chrysanthemums are the fashionable flower now. All the people at the horse-show—”
“That’s what I came into town to see. Thinks I to myself, Old fellow, brace up yourself a bit and take one more look at life before you step behind the curtain. A great town, young man, and full of pitfalls.”
“Yes, sir,” respectfully. “Will you take more than one of the blooms, sir?”