Jeff
raised himself on his pillow.
"Wh-what's up?" he grunted, blinking like an owl.
"Nothing serious. What was Charlotte going to do with her colour
drawings? Show them to some wall-paper manufacturers?"
"What--er--yes--no. What do you know about it?" Jeff was up on his elbow
now, staring at his uncle.
"All about it--except that."
"Charlotte tell you? I didn't think she----"
"She didn't. I guessed--and found out. You may as well tell me the
rest."
"Isn't it a shame? Poor girl's worked months on those things; just got
'em done. You ought to have seen them; they were great. I told her she
could take them as they were, but she wouldn't hear of it."
"But where were they going?"
"To Mr. Murdock, at Chrystler & Company's office. He saw something of
Charlotte's once by chance, through a niece of his who's Charlotte's
friend, and he sent word to Fiddle that she ought to cultivate that
colour sense, or whatever it was, I forget what he called it--for she
had it to an unusual degree. Charlotte has cultivated it for two years
since then, and now--oh, confound that baby! That's what you get for
trying to be a missionary.
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