Jess was heartily glad to get rid of her; and it was seldom that she ever felt that way about Bobby. Bobby was the double distilled essence of cheerfulness.
But Jess felt as though nothing could cheer her to-night but the finding of a big, fat pocket-book on the street—one that “didn’t belong to nobody!” There wasn’t such an object in sight, however, along the glistening walk—the walk that glistened in the lamplight from Mr. Vandergriff’s store.
She positively had to try her luck at the butter and egg shop. The man could do no more than refuse her, that was sure.
But when Jess had lowered her umbrella and backed into the shop, she found several customers waiting at the counter. Mr. Vandergriff and his son, whom the boys called “Griff” and who played fullback on the Central High football team, were waiting upon these customers. Soon Griff was through with the man he was waiting on and came to Jess.
“What’s yours to-night, Miss Morse?” he asked, and was so cheerful about it that the girl’s heart rose. They didn’t owe Mr. Vandergriff such a large bill, anyway. The proprietor was waiting upon the lady who stood beside Jess as she gave her order to Griff. The lady was a very dressy person and she laid her silver-mesh purse on the counter between herself and Jess. The latter saw the glint of gold coins between the meshes of the purse and her heart throbbed. She moved quietly away from the lady. Wasn’t it wicked—seemingly—that one should have so much money, while another needed the very necessities of life?
“Thank you, Griff,” Jess heard herself saying to the younger Vandergriff, as he packed her modest order in the basket. “I shall have to ask you to charge that.”
“All right, Miss Morse. Nothing more to-night?”
“No,” said Jess, and went back and unhooked her umbrella from the edge of the counter where she had hung it, and started for the door. A bright-eyed man in a long blue raincoat who had been waited upon by Griff already was just then going out, and he held open the door for her. As she stepped out the girl saw that the rain was no longer falling—merely a mist clung about the street lamps. She did not raise her umbrella, but hurried toward home.
There was enough in her basket for breakfast, at least. She would wait until to-morrow—which was Saturday—before she went to the butcher’s. Perhaps something would happen. Perhaps in the morning mail there would be a check for her mother instead of a returned manuscript.
And all the time, while her feet flew homeward, she thought of the prize of two hundred dollars that Mrs. Mabel Kerrick was to offer for the girls of Central High to work for. What was the task? Could it be something that she excelled in?