RYE'S FRITTERS. 119

of the store. At the door they were politely detained by a
watchful clerk, and politely informed that there was some-
thing, he believed, in charge. Indeed, Rye, in her misery,
had forgotten to pay him. She apologized, and asked his
price.

“ One dollar!” said the clerk, briskly.

“A dollar ?”’ repeated Rye, faintly.

“Yes, miss,” said the clerk, cheerfully.

Rye had just a dollar bill in her purse, — the only bill she
had in any purse,—her mother’s Christmas present. She
gave it to the clerk in silence, and in silence shut the door.

‘“‘ Well?” she said again, when she and. Prim stood out on
the crowded sidewalk.

“T know it!” said Prim.

“ What shall I do with Aunt Banger?”

“T’d—I’d—bang her!” exploded Prim in her distress,
without the least intention of committing a pun.

“‘ And Jockey!” added Rye, in the anguish of her soul, as
they went slowly over to Copeland’s. “That boy will die
before he ’ll get over this!” They lingered on Copeland’s
steps, seers ys Rye could not muster courage to go in.

“Prim,” she said at last with energy, “I tell you what.
Lend me some money, and I’llgo and buy a comb. Then
we ll come back. You make for Aunt Banger. I’Il make
for the dressing-room. 17H stay there till I’ve combed my-
self out, if it’s till next week. Perhaps she will be up stairs
and won’t see me.”