Part 9 (1/2)

She made answer to her stabs of conscience by action instead of words, going straight to her friend, the ticket-seller.

”That feller,” she said, indicating the tenor, ”ain't satisfied with the fit of his surplus. I've got one jest his size. It's done up spick and span clean, and I'll rent it to him fer the show. He kin hev it fer the ev'nin' fer a dollar. Would you ask him fer me?”

”Certainly, Amarilly,” he agreed.

He came back to her, smiling.

”He'll take it, but he seems to think your charge rather high--more than that of most costumers, he said.”

”This ain't no common surplus,” defended Amarilly loftily. ”It was wore by the rector of St. Mark's, and he give it to me. It's of finer stuff than the choir surpluses, and it hez got a cross worked onto it, and a pocket in it, too.”

”Of course such inducements should increase the value,” confirmed Mr.

Vedder gravely, and he proceeded to hold another colloquy with the twinkling-eyed tenor. Amarilly went home for the surplice and received therefor the sum of one dollar, which swelled the Jenkins's purse perceptibly.

And here began the mundane career of the minister's surplice.

CHAPTER VIII

Ever apt in following a lead, Amarilly at once resolved to establish a regular costuming business. It even occurred to her to hire out the lace waist, but thoughts of wedding bells prevailed against her impulse to open this branch of the business.

When the young tenor returned the surplice he informed Amarilly that two young ladies of his acquaintance were going to give a home entertainment for charity. Among the impromptu acts would be some tableaux, and the surplice was needed for a church scene. So the new venture brought in another dollar that week.

One day Bud came home capless, having crossed a bridge in a high wind.

”I seen an ad,” said the thrifty Flamingus, ”that the Beehive would give away baseball caps to-day.”

Amarilly immediately set out for the Beehive, an emporium of fas.h.i.+on in the vicinity of the theatre. It was the noon hour, and there were no other customers in evidence.

The proprietor and a clerk were engaged in discussing the design for a window display, and were loath to notice their would-be beneficiary.

Finally the clerk drawled out:

”Did you want anything, little girl?”

”I called,” explained Amarilly with grandiose manner, ”to git one of them caps you advertised to give away.”

”Oh, those were all given out long ago. You should have come earlier,”

he replied with an air of relief, as he turned to resume the all-absorbing topic with the proprietor.

Amarilly's interest in the window display dispelled any disappointment she might have had in regard to Bud's head covering.

”Now,” said the clerk didactically, ”my idea is this. Have a wedding--a church wedding. I can rig up an altar, and we'll have the bride in a white, trailing gown; the groom, best man, and ushers in dress suits to advertise our gents' department, the bridesmaids and relatives in different colored evening dresses, and in this way we can announce our big clearing sale of summer goods in the ready-to-wear department. It'll make a swell window and draw crowds. Women can never get by a wedding.”

”That's a dandy idea, Ben,” approved the proprietor.

”Oh, I am a winner on ideas,” vaunted the clerk chestily.

So was Amarilly. She stepped eagerly up to the window designer.

”Do you keep surpluses?”