“I’d have made more of it,” added Bobby, “only Miss Gould didn’t seem to care for that kind of poetry. And I suppose if I tried my hand at a play that I would be unable to hit the popular taste,” and she sighed.
“I guess they won’t demand verse from us in this play,” giggled Jess. “And that is most atrocious, Bobby.”
“Think so?” returned her friend, her eyes twinkling. “And you’ll do a whole lot better when it comes to writing your own play, I s’pose?”
“It won’t be in verse—blank, or otherwise,” admitted Jess.
“Why, Bobby, I’d love to win that two hundred dollars. I don’t suppose I can. All the girls will try, I expect, and Laura, or Nell Agnew, will get it. But I want that two hundred dollars worse than I ever wanted anything in my life!”
She spoke so earnestly that Bobby was impressed. The latter glanced at her sidewise and a shrewd little smile hovered about her lips for a moment, which Jess did not observe.
“Where are you bound for, Jess?” she asked abruptly.
“You trade at Heuffler’s market, don’t you? That’s right around the corner from father’s store. Why don’t you ever patronize _our_ place for groceries. I’m drumming up trade,” said Bobby, grinning.
“I guess our trade wouldn’t amount to much,” said Jess, flushing a little.
“‘Every little bit added to what you’ve got makes just a little bit more,’” quoted Bobby. “And let me tell you, Mr. Thomas Hargrew keeps first-class goods and only asks a fair profit.”
Jess laughed; but she caught at the straw held out to her, too. She knew it would be useless to go to Mr. Closewick’s, where they usually traded. Was it honest to try and obtain credit at another grocery?
“I am afraid your father wouldn’t welcome me as a customer,” said Jess, gravely. “Ours isn’t always a cash trade. Mother’s money comes so very irregular that we have to run a bill at the grocery and the market and other places.”
“Come on and give us a sample order,” urged Bobby. “Father will be glad to get another book account. Now, if _you_ were running a store I’d patronize it! We Central High girls ought to work together—just like a lodge. Come on.”
She fairly dragged Jess by the hand into the store on Market Street, over the door of which Mr. Hargrew’s name was displayed. The clerks were busy at the moment, but Mr. Hargrew was at his desk in the corner. Bobby ran to him and whispered quickly: