"Where's the story," he asked, a little jealously. "Why didn't you let me look it over, Connie?" "Oh, father, I--couldn't. I--I--I felt shy about it. You don't know how it is father, but--we want to keep them hidden. We don't get proud of them until they've been accepted." "Forty-five dollars." Aunt Grace kissed her warmly. "And the letter is worth a hundred times more to us than that. And when we see the story--" "We'll go thirds on the money, twins," said Connie. The twins looked eager, but conscientious. "No," they said, "it's just a boost, you know. We can't take the money." "Oh, you've got to go thirds. You ought to have it all. I would have burned it." "No, Connie," said Carol, "we know you aren't worth devotion like ours, but we donate it just the same--it's gratis." "All right," smiled Connie. "I know what you want, anyhow. Come on, auntie, let's go down town. I'm afraid that silver silk mull will be sold before we get there." The twins fell upon her ecstatically. "Oh, Connie, you mustn't. We can't allow it. Oh, of course if you insist, dearest, only--" And then they rushed to find hats and gloves for their generous sister and devoted aunt. The second story came back in due time, but with the boost still strong in her memory, and with the fifteen dollars in the bank, Connie bore it bravely and started it traveling once more. Most of the stories never did find a permanent lodging place, and Connie carried an old box to the attic for a repository for her mental fruits that couldn't make friends away from home. But she never despaired again. And the twins, after their own manner, calmly took to themselves full credit for the career which they believed lay not far before her. They even boasted of the way they had raised her and told fatuous and exaggerated stories of their pride in her, and their gentle sisterly solicitude for her from the time of her early babyhood. And Connie gave assent to every word. In her heart she admitted that the twins' discipline of her, though exceedingly drastic at times, had been splendid literary experience. CHAPTER XV A MILLIONAIRE'S SON "If Jim doesn't ask for a date for the concert next week, Lark, let's snub him good." "But we both have dates," protested Lark. "What difference does that make? We mustn't let him get independent. He always has asked one of us, and he needn't think we shall let him off now." "Oh, don't worry," interrupted Connie. "He always asks. You have that same discussion every time there's anything going on. It's just a waste of time." Mr. Starr looked up from his mail. "Soup of boys, and salad of boys,--they're beginning to pall on my palate." "Very classy expression father," approved Carol. "Maybe you can work it into a sermon." "Complexion and boys with Carol, books and boys with Lark, Connie, if you begin that nonsense you'll get spanked. One member of my family shall rise above it if I have to do it with force." Connie blushed.