"We'll give you a whole window, or a place at the foot of the main stairs close to the fountain," proceeded Van Horn. "We put it out as a ten-thousand-dollar production and bill you big as the artist. Everybody in town will see it, and the advertising you'll get--why, ten thousand won't begin to express it." "And we want you to put in a lot of farm stuff," said Meyer junior, whose taste in window-dressing had often roused the admiration of the entire town. "Vines and grasses, and a lot of squashes--real ones. I suppose you've got enough faith in your work to face the comparison?" "I s'pose I have," said Jared. "I guess I've faced it before this." "I want some real squashes on the frame too," said the elder Meyer, from whom the son's fine taste was directly derived. "Ever tried that?" "In a small way," said Jared. "Try it now in a large way. Half a squash, like a big rosette, on each corner of the frame--the half with the handle on it, y'understand." Meyer saw the squash as a kind of minor pumpkin. "If I put it in the window," said the son thoughtfully, "I shall want some saw-horses and bushel baskets and----" "Take 'em right out of stock," said his fond father. --"something to make a real country scene, in fact. And possibly a farmer sitting alongside in jeans. Just the place for the artist himself. It might be better, though, to put the whole show by the fountain. In that case I'd have a band, and it would play, 'On the Banks of the Kankakee.'" "Have you got that song on hand?" asked his father. "It ain't written yet, but it will be inside of a week; and in a week more the whole town will be going wild over it, or my name----" Van Horn cut short the youthful visionary. "Well," he said to Jared, "you hustle off and get the show together. Check for five hundred on delivery. And mum's the word," he added, with good-natured vulgarity, "on both sides." "Ain't nobody ever said I talked too much," mumbled Jared, reaching for his hat. VIII Soon the Squash dawned on the town--the Last, the Ultimate. Jared had soothed his ruffled feelings and gone back to his old barn and worked for a fortnight. The result was in all men's eyes: a "Golden Hubbard"--an agricultural novelty--backed up by all the pomp and circumstance a pillaged farm could yield. "There it stands, Melissa," he said to the girl, who had come out with an admiring little company to bid Jared's masterpiece godspeed. "And here _I_ stand--a ten-thousand-dollar artist, and the only one in the country." "I'm proud of you, Jared," panted Melissa, with little effort to conceal the affectionate admiration that filled her. "And I'm grateful to you. You believed in me--you encouraged me----" "Yes, I did, Jared," said Melissa shyly. They were alone, behind the shelter of the barn door. "And next to Dr. Gowdy--" "You've seen him? You've thanked him?"