Virgie's Inheritance Part 32

Virgie flushed, for his tone was rather frigid. Then she recovered herself, and her face lighted with her rare, beautiful smile, which went directly to the publisher's heart.

"Yes, sir," she answered, laying a package upon his desk. "Of course I understand that I am not to expect a private examination of my work. I had no intention of annoying you with the matter. I am willing to take my chance with others. But there is another matter upon which I would like to consult with you if you can spare me a little time."

She now drew forth a more bulky package from her bag.

"Some ma.n.u.script, perhaps, which you would like examined?" responded the gentleman, glancing at it, but speaking indifferently.

"No, not ma.n.u.script according to the common acceptation of the term; and yet, in reality, I suppose it is."

"Can you not leave it with me? I will look at it with pleasure later;" but his tone was not very encouraging.

"I should prefer not to do so, because there is not very much time between now and Christmas, and if you do not approve of it I shall like to take it elsewhere," Virgie replied, untying the dainty ribbon which bound her package, and, removing the wrapper, she laid before him a little book about eight inches square and comprising some twenty or thirty pages.

It was composed of half sheets of the heaviest and nicest of unruled paper, tied together in three places with beautiful little cords and ta.s.sels of pale-blue silk.

On the cover, in a lovely design composed of mountain ferns, most exquisitely executed, there was written, in a dainty hand, the t.i.tle--"Gleanings from the Heights."

The gentleman uttered a low exclamation of pleasure as his eye fell upon this.

His attention was riveted; there was no indifference in his manner now.

Chapter XXIII.

A Mysterious Stranger.

"Did you do this?" Mr. Knight, the publisher, asked, looking up after a close examination of the dainty cover.

"Yes, sir," Virgie answered, with a quiet smile, and, seeing that she had gained her point, that he would not leave it until he had seen the whole, she sat down near him to await his verdict.

Page after page was turned and on each there was a lovely group of mountain foliage, flowers, or ferns, all beautifully executed in pen and ink, while underneath the design, or cunningly woven around it, was written, in a dainty hand, some appropriate verse or couplet, quotations from various authors, with now and then a bit of real heart rhyme that had been the outgrowth of Virgie's own sad experiences.

Everything, as the t.i.tle indicated, had been taken from the mountains--from those heights where she had spent the last few years of her life.

It had been her custom, after gathering the wild, beautiful things, to carefully arrange them and then copy them upon paper.

This amus.e.m.e.nt had served to pa.s.s away many an otherwise tedious hour, and she had a portfolio full of these charming designs, which were likely to prove of great value to her in the future, as we shall see.

Mr. Knight took ample time for his examination of her work, so much, indeed, that Virgie began to grow weary and anxious to get back to her little one.

But at last the gentleman leaned back in his chair, took off his spectacles, and turned his keen, searching glance full upon his visitor's face.

"Madam," he said, "it is not my custom to speak extravagantly upon any subject; but I am bound to admit that this is the finest thing of its kind that it has ever been my privilege to examine."

A beautiful color sprang into Virgie's cheeks at this high praise. She had known that her work was well done, but she had not expected to be told of it quite so frankly or emphatically.

She bowed, and murmured her thanks for his appreciation

"What do you want to do with it?" Mr. Knight asked.

"Get it published as a holiday souvenir, and make it pay me a handsome sum for my trouble," Virgie responded, in a business-like tone, and then was half-frightened at her own boldness.

The publisher's eyes twinkled with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"What would you consider a handsome sum?" he inquired.

Virgie thought a moment; then she replied:

"You have offered one, two, and three hundred dollars as prizes for the simple souvenirs described in your advertis.e.m.e.nt, and surely a work like this must be worth much more."

"Very true; but will you name some price for it? I confess that I should like to take it, if you do not value it too highly."

Virgie was astonished at this.

She had not expected to be allowed to name her own price. She had supposed, if her work was approved at all, to receive some moderate offer, which she could accept or decline as she saw fit.

But she shrank from setting a value upon her work. It was her first effort, and she had no more idea of its worth, as a work of art, than a child.

"Sir," she returned, "I will tell you frankly that I never did anything of the kind before; that is, I have never attempted to dispose of any of my work and I do not know what it ought to bring me. I have been suddenly thrown upon my own resources, and it occurred to me that I might turn my one talent to some account."

"Your 'one talent' will prove a very valuable one, if rightly employed,"

interposed the publisher, smiling.

"Thank you," returned Virgie, flushing again. "And now, since my little book pleases you, will you kindly make me an offer?"

"Well, Miss ---- What shall I call you, please? I like to know the names of people with whom I am dealing," Mr. Knight observed, with a business-like air.

A sudden shock went over Virgie, making her tingle to her finger-tips at this question.

It was the first time that she had been asked to give her name since coming to San Francisco.

She had lived so like a recluse that there had been no occasion, and she had never decided what she would be called. She could not use her husband's name.

If she had more time to think she might have answered the publisher differently; but, as it was, she said, hastily, and not without some confusion:

"My name is Mrs.--Alexander."

Mr. Knight started slightly, and threw a searching glance at her.

"Alexander! Ah, I used to know--But, pardon me; I was about to make you an offer, I believe."

He seemed to consider a moment, then continued:

"I will give you five hundred dollars for this little work, just as it stands, and if it proves to be a success after it is published, I will add ten per cent, of the sales to that amount."