The Pleasant Street Partnership | Page 8

held up the card. "I am just reading the announcement.
Who can be starting it? and isn't it too bad?" As she spoke, she
descended the steps and joined the young girl.
"It is the funniest little place I ever saw," answered Alex. "I suppose it
is not nice to have shops springing up in the neighborhood,
but--sometimes I wish I were going to keep a shop."
"My dear! I trust you will never have to do that."
"Haven't you ever felt that you would like to be doing something?--to
be in things--part of the real working world?" Alexina spoke with
fervor.
"I never wanted to keep a shop, I am sure," answered Miss Wilbur.
CHAPTER FIFTH
THE SHOP

James Mandeville did not forget the pretty young lady who said she
was coming to be his neighbor if they would give her a fireplace. He
had kept an eye on the shop all summer, and he knew there was a
fireplace.
He saw plasterers, carpenters, and painters come and go as he rode
back and forth on his velocipede at a rate of speed altogether out of
proportion to the effort put forth by his plump legs, bare and brown
above his socks. From beneath the brim of his old sailor hat he looked
on with solemn intentness. He was on excellent terms with the
workmen, and often carried home a whole armful of
treasures--odd-shaped pieces of wood, curly shavings, and bits of tile.
At length all was done; the square of lawn on the Terrace side was
sodded, and from the street in front of the shop all the débris was
carried away. Surely, she would come now!
Some rainy days followed, and when the weather permitted James
Mandeville and his velocipede to be abroad again, the place showed
unmistakable signs of occupancy. There were muslin curtains in the
upstairs windows, and, peeping in through the glass door of the shop,
he saw packing-boxes. At another time a woman stood on the curbstone
buying vegetables from a wagon, but she was far removed from the
lady of his dreams. His heart fell.
The door of the shop stood open the next time he passed. James
Mandeville halted, letting one foot slip along the pavement as a brake.
Under his left arm, pressed close to his linen blouse, was a tin horn. At
this moment a lady came to the door and looked out. She was not the
lady of the fireplace,--a glance told him that,--yet she was quite
different from the one who bought vegetables. She was tall and dark,
and wore unbecoming smoked glasses. She took no notice of him, but
turned and went back into the shop. James Mandeville dismounted and
followed.
The packing-cases had been removed, and the sunshine that streamed in
above the sheet tacked across the lower part of the west window lighted
up a scene of cheerful disorder, pervading which was a pleasant odor of

newness. With her back toward him, the lady began to measure off
lengths of some green fabric, standing before a long table.
He waited, but still she took no notice. Should he go away? He
summoned all his courage and gave voice to the question that was
asking itself in his own mind: "Where is she?"
The lady turned in surprise and looked down upon him. If he could
have expressed his feelings, he would have said she was a haughty
person. But as she looked at him her manner changed, and she smiled
as she asked, "What is it? I don't understand."
James Mandeville struggled to reply, but words were hard to find. As
he stood silent a voice behind him cried, "Why, if it isn't Infinitesimal
James!" and there she was, with her shining hair and laughing eyes. He
laughed, too, for very relief.
"There's a fireplace," he announced, going to meet her. "I saw them
make it."
"So you knew I would come back, didn't you? Yes, it is a very nice
fireplace, and will be all ready for a visit from Santa Claus," she replied,
shaking hands. Then quite unexpectedly she picked him up and set him
on the table among the waves of green stuff. "Now you look like
Triton," she said.
James Mandeville held fast to his horn and eyed his captor doubtfully,
as if he had a mind to escape.
"Do you remember my name? I am Miss Norah, and I want to
introduce you to my partner, who is almost as nice as I am. She is Miss
Marion."
The other young lady smiled. "Do you believe in blowing your own
horn, as Miss Norah does?" she asked.
James Mandeville looked at his horn, and then at the speaker; but as he
did not understand, he made no reply.

"She asks foolish questions,