Before the party broke up that night, Mrs. Ashby learned that Mrs. Maynard was an old schoolmate of hers, and expressed a wish that Polly and Eleanor would visit her again and meet Ruth who was then visiting friends for Thanksgiving week.
I really cannot voice my gratitude to all these kind friends, said Mrs. Wellington, as they stood in the reception hall saying good-night. Not only has dear Mr. Dalken turned harsh public condemnation from my doors, but the story as he told it, actually brings glory to the school.
And why should it not, my dear Madam? Have you not fought and struggled with every girl in your charge, to perfect and express just the qualities I have given you credit for? said Mr. Dalken.
Oh, yes, I have
tried so hard, but how many people, or even parents, would credit me with such endeavors? Once they read it in the papers they will accept the statement, but it is so hard to impress folks by actual demonstration, sighed the thankful lady.
Thank heavens, Mrs. Wellington, that you have a whole day of peace before you, in which to remember that you have found a group of people, here, who not only appreciate your efforts but have tried to make others approve them, said Mrs. Ashby, earnestly.
Indeed I have! I expect to have the very best of Thanksgivings, due to all of you dear people. Some day I will be able to show my gratitude for this. And the ladys voice quavered with emotion.
And youll find the story in the papers will not only spare you any criticism, but actually praise your school, added Mr. Ashby.
You may be overwhelmed with new scholars, suggested Polly, innocently.
Thats so! Ive always heard that discreet publicity is the finest kind of advertising, Eleanor declared. This fine tale about your scholars ought to bring back fifty percent returns.
Everyone laughed heartily at hearing so young a girl talk so business-like, and Mr. Dalken said: I am interested to know just where you got that information?
Isnt it true? demanded Eleanor, turning her bright eyes on him. You see, Polly and I are going into business together, pretty soon, and I have to take notice of all approved methods of winning success. I am to be the business manager while Polly is the decorator.
The new acquaintances were highly amused at such talk, and Mr. Ashby laughingly inquired: What profession have you chosen?
Interior decorators. We have started, already; we go to Cooper Union three nights a week and Mr. Fabian takes us to all the lectures and exhibitions on any subject that will give us ideas and help.
Well! exclaimed Mr. Dalken, finding the girls were really serious. Mrs. Ashby was deeply interested, but her husband took each of the prospective decorators by the hand and shaking them cordially, said: Let us congratulate each other, for I am already established as a decorator. I want to help you onward in every possible way, my dear girls, so call on me whenever you want help. Just as Fabian takes you to these valuable exhibitions and lectures, so the four of us pulling together ought to arrive somewhere.
Mr. Fabian was as pleased at the news as either of his protegées, and they left the Ashbys feeling very much at peace with the world and everything in it.
As Eleanor ran down the shallow brown-stone steps to the sidewalk, she turned back and called to Mr. Ashby: Who knows! We may end by going into partnership with you, some day!
He laughed, and said: Who knows?
CHAPTER VIII A WEEK OF PLEASURE
Everyone was dog-tired from the excitement and the visit at the Ashbys afterward, so there was no time lost before tumbling into bed. Eleanor found it very hard to keep her eyes open until she could hear Polly sleeping heavily. Then she crept from the bed.
Downstairs was the print of a photograph taken a few weeks before, of a group of Mrs. Wellingtons scholars. Polly and herself were in this group, and Eleanor planned to get it into the reporters hands for reproduction to print a picture of Polly in the mornings paper.
She found the photograph without noise or trouble and then sat down before the telephone stand in the corner of the living room. I hope to goodness no one upstairs will hear me talk, thought Eleanor to herself, as she gave the number to Central.
Hello is this 10000 Greeley?
Give me Mr. Dunlap, please.
The lady who said she would call him about the fire.
No, you wont do! I want Dunlap!
He isnt in? I dont believe you! Get off the wire!
Hello hello! H-e-l-lo! I want editors desk 10000 Greeley, and be quick about it! snapped Eleanor, feeling quite irritable because of the loss of sleep, and the strange reporters laugh at her.
Is this the night-editor? now asked Eleanor, eagerly.
U um! May I speak to Mr. Dunlap the reporter you assigned on the fire story uptown, to-night?
Oh he isnt in? Well, but he said he would wait to take some important notes from me. I cant believe he is out.
Well, then, you may be the night-editor, but you sound exactly like that fresh reporter who spoke to me a moment ago. I cannot understand why you employ such