"Do you wish these?" asked the clerk hurriedly, for the store was
rapidly filling with school children wanting anything from a dictionary
to a pen.

"Yes," gasped Elnora, "Oh, yes! But I cannot pay for them just now.
Please let me take them, and I will pay for them on Friday, or return
them as perfect as they are. Please trust me for them a few days."

"I'll ask the proprietor," he said. When he came back Elnora knew the
answer before he spoke.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but Mr. Hann doesn't recognize your name. You are
not a customer of ours, and he feels that he can't take the risk."

Elnora clumped out of the store, the thump of her heavy, shoes beating
as a hammer on her brain. She tried two other dealers with the same
result, and then in sick despair came into the street. What could she
do? She was too frightened to think. Should she stay from school that
day and canvass the homes appearing to belong to the wealthy, and try
to sell beds of wild ferns, as she had suggested to Wesley Sinton? What
would she dare ask for bringing in and planting a clump of ferns? How
could she carry them? Would people buy them? She slowly moved past the
hotel and then glanced around to see if there were a clock anywhere, for
she felt sure the young people passing her constantly were on their way
to school.

There it stood in a bank window in big black letters staring straight at
her: