“Nolla, Ah never heard of them until to-day. Ah’m as curious as you, to know who sent them. What were they like, anyway?”
“Well, you must know, Mr. Brewster, that American Beauty roses like they were, cost a small fortune in New York, at that time of the year. Each one of those roses cost not less than five or six dollars. And the trinket that was bound to the stems was not a cheap thing, either. In fact, the chain was of fine, gold-plated links, and the arrows were gold-plated, too. It was an imported curio.”
“By the Great Horned Spoon! Roses that cost like that! Why, they wilted, didn’t they?” gasped Sam Brewster.
Eleanor laughed merrily. “Sure thing! But we kept them as long as possible. That is just where the joy comes in of getting costly roses—they wilt. And anyone, who will spend that much money on one, must think a heap of her first—see?”
Mr. Brewster stood stock-still. He caught at Eleanor’s arm. “Ah’ve got it!”
“What—who?” Eleanor was breathless in her eagerness.
“Find the silly swain that’s making eyes at my Polly, and you’ve caught the rascal who sent the roses.”
Eleanor screamed with laughter. “Oh, you’re funny! But isn’t that exactly what everyone’s been doing?”
“Oh—have they?”
“Sure! I learned that Mr. Fabian tried to find out who the fellow was. And then Mr. Dalken wanted to know. The Latimers and Evans put Jim and Ken through the third degree, but no one confessed to it. Now do you believe John sent them?”