Chapter 10

At first the man was testy, he did not seem to understand.

Lucy's cheeks were redder, so Emmy Lou came forward, thinking she might make it plainer. She was blushing, too. They both explained; they both gazed at the man eagerly while they explained; they both looked pretty, but then they did not know that.

The man wheeled round a little more and listened. Then he got up. He pushed his hat back and scratched his head and nodded as he surveyed them. Then he put a hand in pocket and pursed his lips as he looked down on them.

"And what am I to get, if I give you the advertisement?" asked the man. He was smiling jocosely, and here he pinched Lucy's cheek playfully between a thumb and forefinger.

Emmy Lou had kept her wits. She carried much paraphernalia under her arm. Miss Kilrain had posted them thoroughly as to their business.

"And what, then, do I get?" repeated the man.

Emmy Lou was producing a paper. "A receipt," said Emmy Lou.

The man shouted. So did the other men.

Emmy Lou and Lucy were bewildered.

"It's worth the price," said the man. He promised them the advertisement, and walked back through the cellar-like store with them to the outer door.

"Come again," said the man.

On the way to the next place they met Emmy Lou's Uncle Charlie. It was near his office. He was a pleasant person to meet downtown, as it usually meant a visit to a certain alluring candy-place. He was feeling even now in his change pocket as he came up.

"How now," said he; "and where to?"

Emmy Lou explained. She had not happened to mention this part about the paper at home.

"What?" said Uncle Charlie, "you have been--Say that over again----"

Emmy Lou said it over again.

No more advertisements were secured that morning. No more were solicited. Emmy Lou found herself going home with a lump in her throat. Uncle Charlie had never spoken to her in that tone before.

Lucy had gone on to her father's store, as Uncle Charlie had suggested she ask permission before she seek business farther.

There were others of Uncle Charlie's way of thinking. On Monday the Platonians were requested to meet Professor Koenig in his office. Professor Koenig was kindly but final. He had just heard of the paper and its methods. He had aimed to conduct his school on different lines. It was his request that the matter be dropped.

Miss Kilrain was indignant. She was excited; she was excited and unguarded. Miss Kilrain said more, perhaps, than she realised.

"He's only helping to pull the roof down on his own head," said Miss Kilrain; "it's only another proof of his inability to adapt himself to Modern Methods."

Next month was December. The High School adjourned for the holidays. But the Platonians were busy. They were preparing for a debate, a debate with the High School boys. Professor Koenig had thought the debate an excellent thing, and offered his library to the Society for use in preparation, saying that a friendly rivalry between the two schools would be an excellent and stimulating thing.

These days Miss Kilrain was holding aloof from the Society and its deteriorating tendencies. She shook her head and looked at the members sorrowfully.

The debate was set for the first Friday in the new year.

One morning in the holidays Uncle Charlie looked up from his paper. "You are going to have a new Principal," said he.

"New Principal--" said Emmy Lou, "and Professor Koenig?"

"Like other classics," said Uncle Charlie, "he is being put on the shelf. They have asked him to resign."

"And who is the new one?" asked Emmy Lou.

"The gentleman named as likely is Professor Bryan."

"Oh," said Emmy Lou, "no."

"I am of the opinion, therefore," said Uncle Charlie, "that the 'Platonian's Mercurial Gazette' will make its appearance yet."

"If it is Professor Bryan," said Emmy Lou, "there's no need of my working any more on the Debate."

"Why not?" said Uncle Charlie.

"If it's Mr. Bryan, he'll never let them come, he thinks they are awful things--boys."

Miss MacLauren was right about it; the debate did not take place. Platonian affairs seemed suddenly tame. Would a strictly feminine Olympus pall?

She came into Aunt Cordelia's room one afternoon. "There's to be a dancing club on Friday evenings," she explained, "and I'm invited."

Which was doubly true, for both William and Chester had asked her. She was used to having William say he'd come round and go along; she had had a boy join her and walk home--but this----

"You can't do it all," said Aunt Cordelia positively. "That Society keeps you till dark."

Emmy Lou knew when Aunt Cordelia's tones were final. She had feared this. She stood--fingering the window-curtain--irresolute. In her heart she felt her literary qualifications were not being appreciated in Platonian circles anyway. A dancing club--it sounded alluring. The window was near the bureau with its mirror--she stole a look. She was--yes--she knew now she was pretty.

Late that afternoon Miss MacLauren dropped a note in the post. It was a note tendering her resignation to the Platonian Society.

THE END