Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 40, Number 52, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 March 1908 — HER FIRST CUSTOMER [ARTICLE]

HER FIRST CUSTOMER

By Cynthia Grey.

“Well, I’m going to, anyway!” declared Emily Smythe. And what is a middle-aged guardian going to do when a 17-year-old girl who knows she has momey and thinks she has ideas pouts ? • _ . “It’s for Margaret,” continued Emily. Margaret was a cripple, the daughter of a washerwoman. “I think that the rich should- —’* - : “All right, all right!” agreed Mr. Rand. He had already heard more than he wanted to of Emily’s ideas regarding the obligations of the very rich. Mr. Rand bought the shop Emily coveted, and In two weeks it boasted a new sign, “E. Smith & C 0.”.» “Margaret is the Co., rt explained Emily, “and E. Smith is I.” Mr. Rand knew that the shop backed Emily’s property, which itself faced upon one of the most aristocratic streets of the city, but what he did not know was that every morning a gray little figure slipped out of the back door of the Smythe mansion, darted Into the rear door of Margaret’s mother’s plain little cottage and thence to the shop, where "E. Smith” herself sold cigars and thimbles dally. “It is such a lark!” Emily confided to Margaret; “I love to study the customers.” Her first customer was a tall, dark man with serious eyes and a firm chin.. He came every day, and Emily studied him. Their conversation turned usually to the sins of the very rich, and because they agreed and because Emily loved to study the customers she was deliciously happy for six months. Then the blow fell. Mrs. Rand struck the blow. “Of course, you must come out this season!” “Then, of course, I won’t!” declared the girl. “I hate society.” “The Invitations are addressed,” said the older woman blandly. “They will be mailed to-morrow.” So In two short weeks Emily, lopkand pink rosebuds, made her bow to polite society. “There, that ends it!” she confided to Miss Wilson as she laid aside her finery. “That’s all I want of the aristocracy. I’m 18 to-day. No more guardians or guardians’ wives!”

Miss Wilson smiled. Since the girl’s parents' demise Miss Wilson had managed Emily by letting her think Bhe was doing exactly as she pleased. So once more the little shop brightened under the magic of her presence, and once again the first customer found it bewitchingly attractive. “I guess it’s wicked to he rich,” offered ‘‘E. Smith,” as her first customer leaned over the counter on the morning after her debut. "It needn’t be,” he smiled into her troubled eyes, “if the rich wouldn’t let themselves grow Idle and useless. Just yesterday,” he Went on, “there was a great fuss over on the avenue because a Miss Smythe was 18. She’ll grow up as empty-headed as the other'Women are.” "Will she?” faltered the girl. "Now you,” he continued, "you’ll— I wish you’d let me come to see you. I have something to tell you.” Emily blushed and gave the address of Margaret’s mother. That evening he called, but Miss Wilson was there. 3erenely watchful. 4 He came again and again, and Miss Wilson was always there, until one evening she alInweri Emily to run over ahead of her, promising to come after her at ten o’clock. As the man entered he cast a quick glance around the little parlor. ‘‘Emily,” he cried, “Emily, Emily, dear, I love you!” He did not see the light shining in the blue eyes. “But, dear, l have deceived you. lam not Frank Barber, the bookkeeper down town, as you have thought me. I am Frank Reginald Barber, son of Newton Phelps-Barber.” The girl gave a little gasp; the Plielps-Barbers were richer than she was. “1 have been doing settlement work down here. You see, I am not one of the useless rich. Do you think that you can learn to love me, dear, a little?” She went into the arms that were open to her and nestled against the man's heart. “I’m so glad you’re rich, dearest, so "Yes, my darling?” “For now you won’t nrfnd because I am that empty-headed Emily Bmythe. will your