Mr. Piff and the Mattox couple were the only ones who did not seem pleased.
“This flower show was a mistake,” the promoter complained. “The affair has attracted so many persons that it may hurt attendance at the big festival later this week.”
“The festival will be an anti-climax,” agreed Mr. Mattox. “I wish you hadn’t talked me into contributing so much money.”
“You made us believe that our tulip would win the prize and that we would make a great deal from the sale of bulbs,” Mrs. Mattox accused the promoter. “Now Peter Van Der Lann wins the blue ribbon and he had nothing to do with the festival! It is unfair!”
“Was it my fault the judges didn’t choose your tulip?” Mr. Piff growled. “Let me tell you I’ve had my troubles! Everyone is complaining—jumping on me—saying I haven’t kept my promises.”
“Maybe you’d like to get out of the whole mess?” suggested Mr. Mattox.
“I sure would! I’m fed up with Rosedale and this stupid festival.”
“You’re fed up! You’re starting to make excuses because you are afraid the thing will be a flop. Well, let me tell you this, Mr. Piff. You promised that if we put in five thousand dollars, we’d get it back in bulb sales. You’d better make good!”
“Oh, you make me tired,” Mr. Piff retorted.
He walked angrily off and the Brownies did not hear any more. A little later though, they saw the president of the Rosedale Savings Bank talking soberly to the promoter.