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MAK -b 1314 y^CLB299523
Vol. VII
No. 3
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MAGAZINE
APRIL 1914
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A Bunch of Flowers
(Biograph)
By CLARIB L EGBERT
HE was spoiled, there was no question about that. Everybody liked him, from the head of the department down to the weazened-up little wight that filled the ink-pots and stood guard over the supply of labels, etc.
And Harry Colton was shrewd enough to know that the good nature and the smile that had been the only legacy left him by his merry, Irish parents were as good as money in his pocket, when it came right down to business.
To be sure, he was only a marker now in the shipping department of the wholesale lace-dealers, Wainright & Bartman, but one could never tell what would happen when Mr. Wainright and the head of the department were seen looking at a fellow in a very friendly way.
And this they had done only today, when he had been busy marking some goods under a rush order. He had noticed, too, that the boss had nodded his head in response to something the shipping-clerk was saying, as they continued to look in his direction.
Yes, "old Wainy" was certainly taking notice ! And Colton carefully knotted his four-in-hand as he made a mental resume of the day's doings in his room after dinner.
27
"I'll tell Eleanor, when I get around there" — quickly slipping into his coat — "that things are looking up. And you bet your life" — pulling his hat on his head as he beamed at himself in the glass — ' ' if the Colton smile has anything to do with it, I'll grin until it laps in the back."
You could scarcely wonder that he was spoiled, however, and considered himself de luxe. He had been brought up on that "smile" by a doting old aunt, and, at every turn since he had come out into the world to shift for himself, his smile had been harped upon in every key, both major and minor — the major taken up by the friends who adored him, the minor chords by the maidens who sighed in vain.
So, you see, the blemish did not go to the core; his heart was all right — the little, spoiled spot was just on the surface — in fact, in his head — and, paradoxical as it may seem, his smile was at the root of it. If any one had told him he was selfish, he would nave been amazed. Why, wasn't he, this very minute, going into the florist's to get violets for Eleanor ?
"Gee! there conies my car. I'll have to cut out Eleanor's violets tonight, I guess — I've only time to grab some cigarets."