with a penny on the counter. It did not hurry him; it only worried him. Grindley junior had not acquired facility in the fashioning of cornucopias—the vertex would invariably become unrolled at the last moment, allowing the contents to dribble out on to the floor or counter. Grindley junior was sweet-tempered as a rule, but when engaged upon the fashioning of a cornucopia, was irritable.
“Hurry up, old man!” urged the extremely young lady. “I’ve got another appointment in less than half an hour.”
“Oh, damn the thing!” said Grindley junior, as the paper for the fourth time reverted to its original shape.
An older lady, standing behind the extremely young lady and holding a telegram-form in her hand, looked indignant.
“Temper, temper,” remarked the extremely young lady in reproving tone.
The fifth time was more successful. The extremely young lady went out, commenting upon the waste of time always resulting when boys were employed to do the work of men. The older lady, a haughty person, handed across her telegram with the request that it should be sent off at once.
Grindley junior took his pencil from his pocket and commenced to count.
“Digniori, not digniorus,” commented Grindley junior, correcting the word, “datur digniori, dative singular.” Grindley junior, still irritable from the struggle with the cornucopia, spoke sharply.
The haughty lady withdrew her eyes from a spot some ten miles beyond the back of the shop, where hitherto they had been resting, and fixed them for the first time upon Grindley junior.
“Thank you,” said the haughty lady.
Grindley junior looked up and immediately, to his annoyance, felt that he was blushing. Grindley junior blushed easily—it annoyed him very much.
The haughty young lady also blushed. She did not often blush; when she did, she felt angry with herself.
“A shilling and a penny,” demanded Grindley junior.
The haughty young lady counted out the money and departed. Grindley junior, peeping from behind a tin of Abernethy biscuits, noticed that as she passed the window she turned and looked back. She was a very pretty, haughty lady. Grindley junior rather admired dark, level brows and finely cut, tremulous lips, especially when combined with a mass of soft, brown hair, and a rich olive complexion that flushed and paled as one looked at it.
“Might send that telegram off if you’ve nothing else to do, and there’s no particular reason for keeping it back,” suggested Mrs. Postwhistle.
“It’s only just been handed in,” explained Grindley junior, somewhat hurt.
“You’ve been looking at it for the last five minutes by the clock,” said Mrs. Postwhistle.
Grindley junior sat down to the machine. The name and address of the sender was Helvetia Appleyard, Nevill’s Court.
Three days passed—singularly empty days they appeared to Grindley junior. On the fourth, Helvetia Appleyard had occasion to despatch another telegram—this time entirely in English.
“One-and-fourpence,” sighed Grindley junior.