don't we? We
could put this poem in our newspaper like an advertisement;--that is, if
Florence has got any money, we could."

Herbert frowned. "If her ole poem isn't too long I guess we could. Here,
let's see it, Florence." And, taking the sheet of paper in his hand, he
studied the dimensions of the poem, without paining himself to read it.
"Well, I guess, maybe we can do it," he said. "How much ought we to
charge her?"

This question sent Henry Rooter into a state of calculation, while
Florence observed him with veiled anxiety; but after a time he looked
up, his brow showing continued strain. "Do you keep a bank,
Florence--for nickels and dimes and maybe quarters, you know?" he
inquired.

It was her cousin who impulsively replied for her. "No, she don't," he
said.

"Not since I was about seven years old!" And Florence added sharply,
though with dignity: "Do you still make mud pies in your back yard,
pray?"

"Now, see here!" Henry objected. "Try and be a lady anyway for a few
minutes, can't you? I got to figure out how much we got to charge you
for your ole poem, don't I?"

"Well, then," Florence returned, "you better ask _me_ somep'n about
that, hadn't you?"

"Well," said Henry Rooter, "have you got any money at home?"

"No, I haven't."

"Have you got any money with you?"

"Yes, I have."

"How much is it?"

"I won't tell you."

Henry frowned. "I guess we ought to make her pay about two dollars and a
half," he said, turning to his partner.

Herbert became deferential; it seemed to him that he had formed a
business association with a genius, and for a moment he was dazzled;
then he remembered Florence's financial capacities, always well known
to him, and he looked depressed. Florence, herself, looked indignant.

"Two dollars and a half!" she cried. "Why, I could buy this whole place
for two dollars and a half, printing-press, railing, and all--yes, and
you thrown in, Mister Henry Rooter!"

"See here, Florence," Henry said earnestly. "Haven't you got two dollars
and a half?"

"Of course she hasn't!" his partner assured him. "She never had two
dollars and a half in her life!"

"Well, then," said Henry gloomily, "what we goin' to do about it? How
much _you_ think we ought to charge her?"

Herbert's expression became noncommittal. "Just let me think a minute,"
he said, and with his hand to his brow he stepped behind the
unsuspicious Florence.

"I got to think," he murmured; then with the straigh