"Yes, I've thought. My goodness! I've thought until my wits are fairly muddled with thinking, but that is the part that bothers me most. I can make the candy easily enough after school hours, and I can manage to send it here, but I'm dreadfully afraid I haven't as much capital on hand as I ought to have to get all the boxes I need. They are very expensive I find. I wrote to two firms who make them, but it seems to me they charged me dreadful prices. Perhaps they suspected from my letter that I wasn't much of a business woman," confessed Constance, looking frankly into the friendly eyes.

Mr. Porter laughed in spite of himself, then sobering down again asked:

"Have you time to come back to my office? I would like to make a proposition to you."

"Why yes, Mr. Porter, I have time enough," hesitated Constance. "But I am afraid I am taking a good deal more of yours than I ought to."

"Am I not working in the interests of the owner of this building? I'm trying to secure a new tenant for him. What more could I do?"

"I don't believe their income will be materially increased by _this_ tenant," answered Constance much amused at the thought.

"Every one counts, you know. But now to business."

Entering his office with a brisk air, he again motioned Constance to the chair by his desk, and asked:

"Are you willing to discuss all the details with me? You know I do not ask from idle curiosity, I am sure. I am interested; very deeply interested. I want to see this thing succeed. You have outlined your plan and it is all right. All it needs now is a little capital to carry it through successfully. Now let us see if we can't _secure_ that."

CHAPTER XXI

Constance B.'s Candies

"Now, Miss Carruth, tell me the prices quoted for the boxes, and how many you had thought of ordering," said Mr. Porter, in the voice so encouraging when used by older people to younger.

"Well, if I order _any_ I suppose I ought to order a hundred," began Constance.

"One hundred!" echoed Mr. Porter. "Why, little girl, that would not be a flea-bite. You ought to order five hundred at least."

"_Five hundred!_" cried Constance, in dismay. "Why, Mr. Porter, I'm afraid I've hardly enough money to order one hundred at the rate they charge," and she named the sums asked by the firms to which she had written.

"Bosh! Nonsense! That's downright robbery. You let _me_ write to a firm _I_ know of and we'll see what we'll see. And now I'm going to take some stock in this company right off. I'm going to invest one hundred dollars in it to be used as a working capital--there--don't say a word of protest," as Constance voiced an exclamation. "_I_ know what I'm up to, and--I love sweets. If you can't pay back in any other way you can keep me supplied for a year. Just now you've got to start out in good shape, and there is no use doing things half way. But you haven't asked me what I'm going to charge you for your booth?"

concluded Mr. Porter, with a merry twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Why I forgot all about the price," said Constance in confusion. "Oh, dear, how stupid I am."

"Well, since it is a s.p.a.ce we never thought to rent anyway, and couldn't use for anything else if we wished to, suppose we say five dollars a month? I think those are pretty good returns for a cubby. If I do as well in proportion with all the other offices I'll make the owners rich."

"I'm afraid it is _very_ low. I think you are only letting me have it so cheap just because you liked father. Don't you think I ought really to pay more? I didn't think I could get _any_ sort of a place for _less_ than ten dollars a month," was Constance's most unbusinesslike speech.

Mr. Porter looked at the earnest face regarding him so frankly and confidingly, and a very suspicious moisture came into his eyes. Rising from his chair he laid his hand kindly upon her shoulder as she arose and stood before him, and said very gently:

"Don't worry yourself on _that_ score, little girl, and--don't mind it if I _do_ call you little girl; you seem that to me spite of your business aspirations. I am asking you a fair price because I know you would rather feel that you are _paying_ a fair price for what you get, and would prefer beginning your business venture on such a basis. I am also advancing this sum of money because I am confident you will succeed. It is purely a business speculation. I would do it for your father's sake, but I know you would rather I did it upon strictly business principles. I can not lose my money in any case, because if I do not get the actual cash, I know I shall get my sweets--a whole hundred dollars' worth. It fairly makes my mouth water to think of them, and my girls will go wild when I tell them. Keep up a brave heart, and, above all, keep that pretty modesty you have, for it will carry you farther than any amount of audacity. It is your best armor.

There is nothing a man respects more than a brave and modest woman, my dear. Nothing in this world. Now, little woman, go home and think up the style and sizes of the boxes you will need and let me know at once. 'Phone me early Monday morning. Design something yourself if you can; it will take quicker. Next week I'll have your stall put into shape and you can make your candies and stock up as soon as your boxes come. _Then_ we will soon learn whether your faith in your fellow-beings is justified or misplaced. I believe you will find it justified; upon my soul I do; though I have never before seen such a scheme put to the test. Now good-bye; good-bye, and G.o.d bless you,"

ended Mr. Porter, warmly shaking the small gloved hand.

"Good-bye, Mr. Porter, and, oh, thank you _so_ much for your kind interest. I feel so brave and encouraged to begin now," cried Constance, her eyes confirming her words, and her cheeks glowing.

Mr. Porter accompanied her to the elevator, and with another hearty farewell, sped her upon her way brimful of enthusiasm, and more than ever resolved to carry into effect the scheme which had entered her head many weeks before, and which was now taking definite form and shape.

The trolley car seemed fairly to crawl along, so did her desire to reach home and tell of the afternoon's undertaking outstrip its progress. It was quite dark when she alighted and climbed the hill at her home, thinking, as she ascended the steps, how sweet and cheerful the little home looked, for her mother, in spite of the warnings volunteered by some of her friends that some day she would be robbed as the outcome of letting all the world look in upon her, would never have the shades drawn. Mrs. Carruth always replied:

"For the sake of those to whom a glimpse of our cheery hearth gives pleasure, and there are more than you guess, as I have learned to my own surprise, I shall take my chances with the possible unscrupulous ones."

And so the window shades remained raised after the lamps were lighted, and many a pa.s.ser-by was cheered along his way by a peep at the sweet, home-like picture of a gentle-faced woman, and three bright-faced girls, gathered around the blazing hearth, and reading or sewing in the soft lamp-light.

"Dear little Mumsey," said Constance, softly, as she paused a moment before crossing the piazza. "Your girlie is going to help you keep just such a sweet home forever and ever, and ever." Then giving the whistling bird-call by which the members of the family signaled to each other, she went close to the window and looked smilingly in.

Up bounced Jean to fly to the door; Eleanor raised her head from the book over which she was, as usual, bent, and nodded; Mrs. Carruth waved her hand and wafted a kiss.

"Oh, come in quick, and tell us where you have been, and what you have done," cried Jean, opening the door with a whirl.

"h.e.l.lo, baby! Give me a big hug first," cried Constance, and Jean bounded into her arms. Mrs. Carruth had crossed the room to welcome the tardy one, and as soon as she was released from Jean's tempestuous embrace, took the glowing face in both her hands gently to kiss the cheeks as she said:

"What a bonny, bonny glow the cheeks wear, sweetheart. Something very lovely must have happened."

"Oh, mother, I've had such a perfectly splendid afternoon and feel so brave and proud about it all. Let me get my things off and I'll tell you all about it. But is supper almost ready? I'm half-starved?

Excitement sharpens one's appet.i.te doesn't it? Heigh-ho. Nornie. What news of the ponies? If you're to be a coach-woman you've got to have some sort of an equine creature to hustle along, haven't you? Did you have time to go and see the prospective ones this afternoon? And oh, _how_ did the auction turn out, mother? Gracious, what stirring people the Carruths are getting to be compared with the common-place, slow-going ones they were."

"Jean, dear, run out and tell Mammy that Constance is home, and we will have supper at once. You can tell us all the news at the table, dear."

Jean flew for Mammy's quarters, quite as eager as Constance to have the supper served.

"Mammy! Mammy! Connie's got back, and she's starved _dead_! Mother says have supper right off quick," burst out Jean, as she whisked through the butler's pantry.

"Jes so. Whar dat chile been? Go 'long back an' tell 'em de supper 'ready an' a waitin', as de hyme book say, an' I got sumpin' dat dat chile pintedly love."

"What is it, Mammy? What is it?" cried Jean, eagerly, as she ran over to inspect the dishes upon the range.

"Get out! Clear 'long! Yo' keep yo' little nose outen my dishes!"

cried Mammy, with a.s.sumed wrath, as she pounced upon little Miss Inquisitive. "Yo' go right 'long an' tell her I'se got lay-over-catch-meddlers in hyer an' lessen yo' take keer you'll turn inter one."

"Fiddlestick!" retorted Jean, as she flew back.

A few moments later the family had gathered about the delightful supper table and Constance was relating the experiences of the afternoon, while first one and then another exclaimed over her venture, Mammy crying as she urged her to take another of the dainty waffles she had made especially for her. "Honey, what I tol' yo'? Ain'

I perdic' dat yo' boun' ter hit de tack spang on de right en'? I say dat dem pralines and fudges de banginest candies I ever _is_ see, an'

de folks what done buy 'em--huh! My lan' dey fair brek dey necks fallin' ober one an'ner ter git _at_ 'em de minit I sot myse'f on dat ar camp stool. An' now yo' gwine open a boof an' 'splay 'em fer sale?

But yo' aint gwine stan' behin' de counter is yo'? Yo' better _not_ set out ter do no sich t'ing as _dat_, chile, whilst _I'se yo'_ Mammy.

No-siree! I ain' gwine stan' fer no sich gwines-on as dat--in a Blairsdale. Yo' kin hab yo' cubby, as yo' calls. .h.i.t, an' take yo'

chances wedder yo' gits cheated or wedder yo' meets up with hones'

folks, but yo' cyant go behin' no counter, an' dats flat. When yo'

gwine begin makin' all dat mess o' candy?"

"Just as soon as I have some boxes to sell it in, Mammy, and those I must design. At least must suggest something pretty for the covers."

"Have a picture of Baltie on the cover, Connie. He was the first one to take your candies to South Riveredge," cried Jean, with thoughts ever for the faithful old silent partner.