“How about those pretty Japanese boxes they have at Bailey’s?” ventured Eleanor.
“Still less distinctive. No; I must have some design that suggests me. Don’t think me conceited, but I want people to know that the candy is made and sold by a school-girl, who cannot be there to look after her counter, and must trust to their honesty. I’ve got an idea about my sign, but, somehow, I don’t seem to be able to get one that is worth a straw for the boxes, yet I’ve been thinking as hard as I could think.”
“Wait a minit, Baby,” said Mammy, and hurried from the room. She came back in about ten minutes holding a small box in her hand. Placing it upon the table before Constance, she said: “Now, Honey, mebbe dis yere idee ob mine ain’ nothin’ in de worl’ but foolishness, but seems ter me ef yo’ want distincshumness you’s got hit dar. I ain’ half lak ter let yo’ do hit, but dey’s yo’ candies, so I spec’ yo’ might as well let folks unnerstan’ hit.”
The box was one which Jean had given Mammy the previous Christmas. It was made of white moire paper with a small medallion in gilt in the left-hand upper corner, the medallion being in the shape of a little gold frame formed of gold beads. Originally there had been a colored picture of Santa Claus’s face within it, but over this Mammy had carefully pasted a small photo of Constance; one taken several years before. In the center of the box was written in gold script “Merry Christmas,” and just beneath that the word “bonbons.”
“Couldn’t you have yo’ name whar de Merry Christmas stan’ at an’ ‘candies’ whar de bong bongs is?” asked Mammy.
“Mammy, you old dear!” cried Constance, springing to her feet to throw her arms about the wise old creature. “You’ve hit it exactly. Why I couldn’t have anything better if I thought for a whole year. I’ll have some pictures taken right off and the boxes shall be just exactly like this. Hurrah for ‘Constance B.’s Candies!’ Come on Mammy, we’ve got to celebrate the brilliant idea!” and catching the astonished old woman by the arms, Constance whirled her off on a lively two-step, whistling the accompaniment, while Mammy cried:
“Gawd bress my soul, is yo’ gone stark crazy, chile!” and at length broke away to vanish protesting within the privacy of her kitchen.
[CHAPTER XXII—First Steps]
During the ensuing week it would have been hard to find a busier household than the Carruths’. Instead of telephoning to Mr. Porter on Monday morning, as he had suggested, Constance wrote a long letter Saturday evening, giving accurate directions for the boxes, and enclosing a paper design to be sent to the manufacturers.
The letter reached him by the early mail, causing him to exclaim: “George, what a level little head she has got! She shall have those boxes before next Saturday, if I have to go after them myself. Why the idea is simply great!”