Poor, Dear Margaret KirbyNorris, Kathleen Thompson
General
Poor, Dear Margaret Kirby
Norris, Kathleen Thompson
American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories
Whereupon Alanna breathed a bashful "Thank you, Dad," into the ruffled
yoke of her frock, and the matter was settled.
The next day she trotted beside her father to Paul's big furniture
store, and after long hesitation selected a little desk of shining
brass and dull oak.
"Now," said her father, when they were back in his office, and Teresa
and Mrs. Costello were eager for the matinee, "here's your book of
numbers, Alanna. And here, I'll tie a pencil and a string to it. Don't
lose it. I've given you two hundred numbers at a quarter each, and mind
the minute any one pays for one, you put their name down on the same
line!"
"Oo,--oo!" said Alanna in pride. "Two hundred! That's lots of money,
isn't it, Dad? That's eleven or fourteen dollars, isn't it, Dad?"
"That's fifty dollars, goose!" said her father making a dot with the
pencil on the tip of her upturned little nose.
"Oo!" said Teresa, awed. Hatted, furred, and muffed, she leaned on her
father's shoulder.
"Oo--Dad!" whispered Alanna, with scarlet cheeks.
"So NOW!" said her mother, with a little nod of encouragement and
warning. "Put it right in your muff, lovey. Don't lose it. Dan or Jim
will help you count your money, and keep things straight."
"And to begin with, we'll all take a chance!" said the mayor, bringing
his fat palm, full of silver, up from his pocket. "How old are you,
Mommie?"
"I'm thirty-seven,--all but, as well you know, Frank!" said his wife,
promptly.
"Thirty-six AND thirty-seven for you, then!" He wrote her name opposite
both numbers. "And here's the mayor on the same page,--forty-four! And
twelve for Tessie, and eight for this highbinder on my knee, here! And
now we'll have one for little Gertie!"
Gertrude Costello was not yet three months old, her mother said.
"Well, she can have number one, anyway!" said the mayor. "You make a
rejooced rate for one family, I understand, Miss Costello?"
"I DON'T!" chuckled Alanna, locking her thin little arms about his
neck, and digging her chin into his eye. So he gave her full price, and
she went off with her mother in a state of great content, between rows
and rows of coffins, and cases of plumes, and handles and rosettes, and
designs for monuments.
"Mrs. Church will want some chances, won't she, mother?" she said
suddenly.
"Let Mrs. Church alone, darlin'," advised Mrs. Costello. "She's not a
Catholic, and there's plenty to take chances without her!"
Alanna reluctantly assented; but she need not have worried. Mrs. Church
voluntarily took many chances, and became very enthusiastic about the
desk.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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