'Can't I? Well, you just get me the five hundred dollars, and I'll see
about the making.'
The editor jotted the amount down.
'You don't think four hundred dollars would do?' he said.
'No, I don't. And, say, am I to get a trip to Paris after this is over,
or must I come directly back?'
'Oh, I guess we can throw in the trip to Paris,' said the editor.
'What did you say the names of the young men are?--or are they not
young? Probably they are old fogies, if they are in the mining business.'
'No; they are young, they are shrewd, and they are English. So you see
your work is cut out for you. Their names are George Wentworth and
John Kenyon.'
'Oh, Wentworth is my man,' said the young woman breezily. 'John Kenyon! I
know just what sort of a person he is--sombre and taciturn. Sounds too
much like John Bunyan, or John Milton, or names of that sort.'
'Well, I wouldn't be too sure about it until you see them. Better not
make up your mind about the matter.'
'When shall I call for the five hundred dollars?'
'Oh, that you needn't trouble about. The better way is to get your
dresses made, and tell the people to send the bills to our office.'
'Very well,' said the young woman. 'I shall be ready. Don't be frightened
at the bills when they come in. If they come up to a thousand dollars,
remember I told you I would let you off for five hundred dollars.'
The editor looked at her for a moment, and seemed to reflect that
perhaps it was better not to give a young lady unlimited credit in New
York.
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