The Little Red Chimney | Page 8

it really was.
Virginia's gaze suddenly fastened on a small book lying on the seat of
the Candy Wagon, and she had seized it before its owner could protest.
"What a funny name," she said. "'E p i c t e t u s.' What does that spell?
And what made you cut a hole in this page? It looks like a window."
The page was a fly leaf, from which a name, possibly that of a former
owner, had been removed. Below it the Candy Man's own name was
now written.
"It was so when I got it," he answered, holding out his hand for it. He
had no mind to have his book in any other keeping, for somewhere
within its leaves lay a crimson flower.
Before she returned it Virginia examined the back. "Vol. I, what does
that mean?" she asked, and without waiting for an answer she tossed it
back to him, and ran to join the other pigeons.
From this time Virginia began to be almost as constant a visitor as the
Reporter. She had a way of bursting into conversation without any
preface whatever, speaking entirely from the fullness of her heart at the
moment.
"I'd give anything in the world to be pretty," she remarked one day,
resting her school bag on the carriage block and sighing deeply.
"But now honestly," said the Candy Man, regarding her gravely, "it
seems to me you are a very nice-looking little girl, and who knows but
you may turn out a great beauty some day? That is the way it happens
in story books."
Virginia returned his gaze steadily. "Do you really think there is any
chance? You are not laughing?"
He assured her he was intensely serious.
"Well, you are the first person who ever told me that. Uncle Harry said,

'Is it possible, Cornelia, that this is your child?' Cornelia is my mother,
and she is a beauty. My brother is awfully good looking, too.
Everybody thinks he ought to have been the girl. I'll tell you who I
want to look like when I grow up. Don't you know that young lady who
fell in the mud?"
Oh, yes, the Candy Man knew, and applauded Virginia's ambition. He
would have been pleased to enlarge on the subject, even to the extent of
neglecting business, but just as she began to be interesting Virginia
remembered an errand to the drug store, and ran away.
That Sunday morning meeting with Miss Bentley had been reviewed by
the Candy Man from every possible standpoint, and always, in
conclusion, with the same questions. Could he have done otherwise?
What would she think when she discovered her mistake? Who was his
unknown double?
The opportunity offering, he made some guarded inquiries of the
Reporter.
"Bentley?" repeated that gentleman, as he sharpened a bright yellow
pencil. "Seem to have heard the name somewhere recently."
It was a matter of no particular importance to the Candy Man. He had
chanced to hear the name given to the conductor by the young lady who
was thrown down the night of the accident, and wondered----
The Reporter, who wasn't listening, here exclaimed: "I have it! It was
this A.M. Maimie McHugh was interviewing Mrs. Gerrard Pennington
over the office 'phone in regard to a luncheon she is giving this week in
honour of her niece. Said niece's name me-thinks was Bentley. You
will see it all in the social notes later. Covers for twelve, decorations in
pink, La France roses, place cards from somewhere." He paused to
laugh. "Maimie was doing it up brown, but she lacks tact. What does
she do but ask for Miss Bentley's picture for the Saturday edition! I
tried to stop her, but it was too late. You should have heard the 'phone
buzz. 'My niece's picture in the Evening Record!' 'I don't care, mean old
thing,' says Maimie, when she hung up. 'Nicer people than she is do it,

and are glad to. 'That's all right, my honey,' I told her, 'but there are nice
people and nice people, and it's up to you to know the variety you are
dealing with, unless you like to be snubbed.' Still," the Reporter added
reflectively, "Mrs. Gerrard Pennington and little McHugh can't afford
to quarrel. After the luncheon Mrs. G.P. will probably send Maimie a
pair of long white gloves, and when their pristine freshness has
departed, Maimie will wear them to the office a time or two."
The Candy Man wished to know who Mrs. Gerrard Pennington was,
anyway.
"She, my ignorant friend, is a four-ply Colonial Dame, so to speak.
Distinguished grandfathers to burn, and the dough to support them,
unlike another friend of mine who possessed every qualification needed
to become a C.D. except on the clothes