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"But you would have an ideal," she persisted. "I'm sure I I don't that is, she would not necessarily be a heroine. Unless, of course, it would require heroism to pose as an ideal for such a prosaic fellow as I." "To begin with, you would call her Clarabel Montrose or something equally as impossible. You know the name of a heroine in a novel must be euphonious. That is an exacting rule.
The other dolls were received with raptures, Josephine stroking the golden curls of the Lady Matilda with wondering fingers, and the baby dancing round and round, waving the pink-robed Lady Clarabel above her head. "Mr. Harvey McGinnis!" came the gruff tones of Santa Claus; and Harvey smiled over to his mother as he drew out a pair of stout cloth gloves. "Mrs. McGinnis!"
Presently Clarabel Ruggles came in, attired in an elaborate evening gown. Tubbs at once arose to his feet and, bowing very low, accepted her hand, which was held on high. Then the dudish student said something and offered the box of candy. "Oh, is this really for me!" those outside heard the young lady cry, the words coming through the partly open window.
"Keep back, fellows, or he'll spot us!" And he pulled those nearest to him behind some shrubbery. William Philander passed them and they followed at a safe distance in the darkness. The dudish student headed directly for the house at which Miss Clarabel Ruggles was stopping, and the others saw him ascend the front piazza and ring the bell.
"About a week ago," he went on, leaning back easily against the tall building and thrusting his hands down deep into his well worn pockets, "about a week ago, as I was cleaning out the storeroom, I came on three big boxes with broken dolls in 'em. Beauties they were, I kin tell you, the Lady Jane in a blue silk dress, the Lady Clarabel in pink, and the Lady Matilda in shimmerin' white.
And it is wax, too," she continued, inspecting the lump more closely. "Wax!" gasped poor William Philander, hollowly. "Yes, wax, Mr. Tubbs." "Oh, you must be mistaken, my dear Mrs. Garlett!" "Humph! I think I know wax when I see it. And this is rubber nothing but rubber!" "Oh, Aunt Clarabel!" murmured the young lady. "Let me look at that box!" cried the lady of the house.
"She surely ought to be glad," said Tom. The Lady Clarabel was another fair-haired lady in a gown of the brightest pink. "This here beauty's for the baby," said Harvey, his eyes glowing. "She don't care if the hair's black or yellow, but won't that stunnin' dress make her eyes pop out?" "They'll surely believe in Santy when they see those beauties," said Tom.
"And I wouldn't waste any sympathy on that girl," put in Spud. "She is as bad as Tubby, when it comes to cutting the fellows she doesn't care to know." "Well, I guess it will all pass over," remarked Sam. And it must have, for a few days later William Philander and Clarabel Ruggles were seen out driving together and apparently as friendly as over.
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