Both little girls smiled into each other’s eyes. “I’ll miss you dreadfully when I go home,” sighed Jimsi.
“And I’ll miss you!”
“Let’s think of something else we can sell.”
“Let’s see.”
They thought and thought. It seemed very hard to think of something that would sell.
“There’s a little clock made of cardboard on Father’s desk,” finally Jimsi announced. “I think you and I could copy it. Father turns the hands around. They are on a pivot and they point to numbers that are on the dial of a white clock-face. Father fixes the hour with the clock-hands. He uses it when he leaves his office. The clock tells when he will be back. Mother said she would like one once. I thought I could copy Father’s. I thought of using fancy paper pasted over a square of cardboard at the back. There would need to be an easel back so the card would stand. A strip of cardboard covered with the same sort of wall paper could be glued at the back and left loose lower down to rest the card upright. The clock face would be cut out of pad paper and numbers could be cut from a calendar to paste on the dial—all around the edge. A round-sided paper-fastener would answer for a pivot to hold the clock hands in place. The hands one could cut from cardboard. They might be colored to make them stand out clearly.”
“I see,” the little lame girl answered. “I’ll make one, too. Perhaps my daddy would use one.”
“I’ll ask Aunt Phoebe if she thinks any of them will sell. I’ll ask her tonight. Perhaps we could make the two years shorter a little,” sighed Jimsi.
“Maybe we will make a fortune,” laughed Joyce. “Anyhow, Jimsi dear, I’m not going to be discontented any more. I’m not going to have any more blue days. I’m going to be plucky, I am. Don’t you ever dare to mention it again.”
“All right,” Jimsi agreed, “not unless we do make the fortune,” she laughed.