“What do you want?” asked Dot, who was working at a doll’s night-dress that had for long been partly finished, and now seemed in a fair way to completion.
“It’s the glue-pot,” Sam continued. “It does take so long to boil. And I have been stirring at the glue with a stick for ever so long to get it to melt. It is very hot work. I wish you would take it for a bit. It’s as much for your good as for mine.”
“Is it?” said Dot.
“Yes it is, Miss,” cried Sam. “You must know I’ve got a splendid idea.”
“Not another earthquake, I hope?” said Dot, smiling.
“Now, Dot, that’s truly unkind of you. I thought it was to be forgotten.”
“So it is,” said Dot, getting up. “I was only joking. What is the idea!”
“I don’t think I shall tell you till I have finished my shop. I want to get to it now, and I wish you would take a turn at the glue-pot.”
Sam was apt to want a change of occupation. Dot, on the other hand, was equally averse from leaving what she was about till it was finished, so they suited each other like Jack Sprat and his wife. It had been an effort to Dot to leave the night-dress which she had hoped to finish at a sitting; but when she was fairly set to work on the glue business she never moved till the glue was in working order, and her face as red as a ripe tomato.
By this time Sam had set up business in the window-seat, and was fastening a large paper inscription over his shop. It ran thus:—