promised to do this myself, and I will”; and Jack wagged his head
resolutely.
“Couldn’t you do something with the printing-press? Do me some
cards, and then, perhaps, the other girls will want some,” said Jill,
as a forlorn hope.
“Just the thing! What a goose I was not to think of it. I’ll rig the old
machine up at once.” And, starting from his seat, Jack dived into
the big closet, dragged out the little press, and fell to oiling,
dusting, and putting it in order, like one relieved of a great anxiety.
“Give me the types; I’ll sort them and set up my name, so you can
begin as soon as you are ready. You know what a help I was when
we did the programmes. I’m almost sure the girls will want cards,
and I know your mother would like some more tags,” said Jill,
briskly rattling the letters into the different compartments, while
Jack inked the rollers and hunted up his big apron, whistling the
while with recovered spirits.
A dozen neat cards were soon printed, and Jill insisted on paying
six cents for them, as earning was not borrowing. A few odd tags
were found and done for Mamma, who immediately ordered four
dozen at six cents a dozen, though she was not told why there was
such a pressing call for money.
Jack’s monthly half-dollar had been spent the first week
twenty-five cents for a concert, ten paid a fine for keeping a book
too long from the library, ten more to have his knife ground, and
five in candy, for he dearly loved sweeties, and was under bonds to
Mamma not to spend more than five cents a month on these
unwholesome temptations. She never asked the boys what they did
with their money, but expected them to keep account in the little
books she gave them; and, now and then, they showed the neat
pages with pardonable pride, though she often laughed at the queer
items.
All that evening Jack & Co. worked busily, for when Frank came
in he good-naturedly ordered some pale-pink cards for Annette,
and ran to the store to choose the right shade, and buy some
packages for the young printer also.
“What do you suppose he is in such a pucker for?” whispered Jill,
as she set up the new name, to Frank, who sat close by, with one
eye on his book and one on her.
“Oh, some notion. He’s a queer chap; but I guess it isn’t much of a
scrape, or I should know it. He’s so good-natured he’s always
promising to do things for people, and has too much pluck to give
up when he finds he can’t. Let him alone, and it will all come out
soon enough,” answered Frank, who laughed at his brother, but
loved him none the less for the tender heart that often got the
better of his young head.
But for once Frank was mistaken; the mystery did not come out,
and Jack worked like a beaver all that week, as orders poured in
when Jill and Annette showed their elegant cards; for, as
everybody knows, if one girl has a new thing all the rest must,
whether it is a bow on the top of her head, a peculiar sort of pencil,
or the latest kind of chewing-gum. Little play did the poor fellow
get, for every spare minute was spent at the press, and no
invitation could tempt him away, so much in earnest was our
honest little Franklin about paying his debt. Jill helped all she
could, and cheered his labors with her encouragement,
remembering how he stayed at home for her.
“It is real good of you to lend a hand, and I’m ever so much
obliged,” said Jack, as the last order was struck off, and the drawer
of the type-box held a pile of shining five and ten cent pieces, with
two or three quarters.
“I love to; only it would be nicer if I knew what we were working
for,” she said demurely, as she scattered type for the last time; and
seeing that Jack was both tired and grateful, hoped to get a hint of