Chapter 33 The Palace Beautiful: A Story for Girls by L. T. Meade
VISITING THE PUBLISHERS
Jasmine had begged of Daisy to keep her secret from Primrose's ears. She said that half her pleasure in bringing home money for her contributions would be destroyed if Primrose knew about it beforehand. Jasmine hoped that if she were very successful she might be able to buy a little present apiece for both her sisters. Primrose badly needed some new gloves, and Jasmine pictured to herself how her eldest sister's sweet eyes would fill with tears, and how touched she would be by her little offering. Yes, certainly Daisy must keep her secret faithfully.
On Tuesday morning, as Primrose was preparing to start for Penelope Mansion, Jasmine announced her intention of accompanying her. Her face had a slightly guilty look as she made this suggestion; and Daisy quite blushed, and kept her eyes fixed on her plate, and wondered how Jasmine would smuggle a large roll of manuscript out of the house. Primrose immediately guessed that there was a little mystery afloat, but she was not a curious girl, and was only too pleased to see that her sisters had something to interest them.
"You can walk with me if you like, Jasmine," she said; "but it is a rather dull morning, and I fear it will rain."
"Torrents wouldn't keep me in to-day," said Jasmine. Then fearing she had betrayed herself, she added hastily, "I want to see Poppy. Poppy is to have a holiday to-day, and I want to take her out."
Primrose made no further objection, and Jasmine having packed her manuscript into a small leather bag, and having given Daisy a somewhat solemn farewell, the two girls set out.
When they arrived at the Mansion Primrose went upstairs at once to Mrs. Mortlock's sitting-room, but Jasmine began to enter into an earnest conversation with Poppy.
"Are you quite ready, Poppy? Oh, you've got your working dress on still; how tiresome!"
"I won't be a minute changing, Miss Jasmine; the hours for the working maid's holiday are from ten to ten, and I won't be denied them. The clock has just gone ten, miss, and not another stroke of work shall Aunt Flint get out of me to-day, miss."
"Quite right, Poppy," said Jasmine; "run upstairs now, and be as quick as possible, and I will wait for you in the hall."
Poppy did not need to be told to hasten; she flew up to the small attic which she occupied at the top of the house, and made a hasty and, she hoped, a brilliant toilet. She had been thinking for weeks of this day; for since Primrose had come to Mrs. Mortlock's Jasmine had promised Poppy that she was to spend her holiday with her, and Poppy had been getting ready her toilet with a view to the occasion.
Her dress, after all, was only an ordinary and somewhat shabby brown one, but she had adorned her tight-fitting black jacket with a sky-blue bow, which hung down in front with what she considered "truly hartistic folds." Poppy's hat, however, was her master-piece; it was a rather small white straw hat, trimmed with dark blue velvet, and adorned with a scarlet tip and a bunch of yellow daffodils.
Poppy's black eyes gleamed mischievously under the shade of this brilliant hat, and her cheeks rivalled the scarlet tip in their color.
With her little purse clasped tightly in her hand she tripped downstairs and joined Jasmine.
Jasmine was too excited and too eager to be off to notice Poppy's attire particularly, and when her hat and general get-up were received without a comment the little maid whispered to herself, "It's only another of the bitings; life's full of them—choke-full."
"Where are we going, Miss Jasmine?" she asked aloud, smothering back a slight sigh.
"Business first, Poppy," said Jasmine—"business first and then pleasure. I thought we'd make a little programme in this way—we'd visit the publishers at their seats of learning in the morning hours; in the afternoon we might go to Madame Tussaud's or a picture gallery—I'd prefer that, but of course naturally you'd go in for Madame Tussaud's, Poppy; then in the evening we'll go and have tea with Daisy. We'll bring something nice in for tea, and Daisy will be so happy. I expect to have very good news to bring to my little sister to-night, Poppy."
"Oh, indeed, miss, I'm sure I'm gratified to hear that same. I think, Miss Jasmine, that the programme sounds sensible—the dull part first, and then the pleasure, and then the needed refreshment for our hungry bodies. All things considered, Miss Jasmine, seeing that I eats the bread of toil from morn to eve, and have a swimming head, owing to being Sarah with every other name tacked on, I think it might be best for me to be enlivened with the waxen figures, miss, and not to have my poor brain worrited with picters."
"All right, Poppy, we will certainly go to Madame Tussaud's—but you must not consider the first part of our day dull, dear Poppy—it is business, certainly, but you don't know what it means to me. To-day, Poppy, I am about to take my first soaring flight."
"Oh law! Miss Jasmine—I always knew you were clever, miss, and I suppose it is because I'm so worried in my business days that I've got that stupid that I can't see no meaning at all in your words, miss."
"All right, Poppy, you need not see any meaning in them—all you have to do is to come with me, and look very grave and solemn, and say 'Yes' when I say 'Yes,' and shake your head and look stern when I do. You are older than me, Poppy, and you are coming as a sort of chaperon. Oh dear! Poppy, I wish you would not wear that scarlet wing and those yellow flowers in your hat."
"The cruellest of all the bitings," whispered Poppy under her breath. Aloud she said, in a meek but determined little voice—
"That hat's as it's trimmed, Miss Jasmine, and must remain according, for it can't be denuded in the street."
"All right, Poppy. Your own dear face looks sweet and home-like under it; now let us get into the very first omnibus, and find our way to the city."
When the girls arrived within the sacred precincts of the far-famed Paternoster Row, Jasmine held her breath a little, and stood still while she eagerly considered as to which publishing house she should offer her wares. Finally, she determined that her first pilgrimage should be to the editor of The Downfall, who had not yet returned or even written to her about her "Ode to Adversity."
The office of The Downfall was not in Paternoster Row, but in a very narrow street adjoining, and Jasmine, followed by Poppy, plunged boldly down this narrow alley, and then up, and up, and up, and up the winding stairs to the editor's office at the top of the house.
Jasmine had not been at all agreeably impressed by Mr. Rogers on the occasion of her former visit. Unaccompanied by Poppy, she would scarcely have again ventured to approach him, but Poppy looked quite determined and resolute enough to give her little companion courage, and Jasmine's childish voice was presently heard in the outer office demanding to see the editor.
It so happened that Mr. Rogers was not particularly engaged, for The Downfall was rapidly proving the truth of its title, and was having a very quick descent into an early and untimely grave—consequently its editor had very little to do.
Mr. Rogers consented to see Miss Jasmine Mainwaring and her companion, and accordingly the two girls were ushered into the editorial presence.
Mr. Rogers commenced his interview with Miss Jasmine by apparently forgetting all about her. This had a most disconcerting effect on the young author.
"But surely you must remember that I came to see you nearly three months ago, and brought you a poem called an 'Ode to Adversity,'" pleaded Jasmine—"we had rather a long talk about it; I don't know how you can absolutely forget."
"My dear young lady, so many people call, and leave so many poems, and each poem is so like the last, that really you must pardon me, but my head gets confused."
"Taken with a kind of swimming, sir?" here burst in Poppy. "I suppose it is a sort of Sarah case over again."
The editor stared rather fiercely at this unexpected interruption, deigned no reply whatever to Poppy, and continued his conversation with Jasmine.
"I am sorry that I have forgotten both you and your poem—it is, doubtless, docketed with others to be returned in due course—I am sorry, but of course I could not use it—did you expect me to? Why, the name alone—an 'Ode to Adversity,' was quite sufficient to make me decline it."
"But, but," said Jasmine, coloring crimson and very nearly crying, "I was told by a lady who reads your paper that the name was just what you like. She said that your paper was called by a melancholy name, and of course you wanted melancholy subjects."
The editor smiled in a very bland, though disagreeable manner—"The Downfall," he said; "we chose that title for political reasons." Here he sounded a gong. "Jones," as an attendant came in, "look in pigeon-hole D, and put into an envelope for this young lady some verses entitled an 'Ode to Adversity.' Sorry I can do nothing more for you this morning, Miss Mainwaring. Good morning—good morning."
When the two girls got out on the landing Jasmine thrust her rejected poem into Poppy's hand.
"Put it into your pocket, Poppy," she said, "and don't on any account let me see it—I must try to forget it, or my courage will go. Evidently, Poppy, names go by contraries. I wrote some dismal papers on purpose for The Downfall; I will now offer them to a magazine which has a cheerful title."
"Look there, Miss Jasmine," said Poppy, when they got into the street. "Right there, facing us at the other side, is what I call a pleasant magazine—it has lots of pictures, for see, it's pressed up to the window wide open, and it's called The Joy-bell—I'm a great deal more taken with that sound than with the sound of The Downfall."
"So am I, too," said Jasmine, the April cloud quickly leaving her expressive face—"I'm so glad I have you with me, dear Poppy; I was feeling so low just now that I should never have noticed the office of The Joy-bell—it has a very nice, high-class sound, and I should say was a more attractive magazine than even a shilling one. We'll go there at once, Poppy, and be sure you support me, and say 'Yes' when I look at you; and if I happen to frown in your direction, you'll know that I want you to help me not to accept too low a price. Now come, Poppy; I feel that destiny leads my steps to the office of The Joy-bell."
The editor of The Joy-bell happened also to be disengaged, and after keeping the young aspirant for literary fame waiting for about a quarter of an hour, consented to see her and her companion.
Jasmine's interview with this editor caused her to come away in very high spirits, for he had not only promised most carefully to consider her poem, "The Flight of the Beautiful," but he had also said he was wanting a serial story to run through the pages of The Joy-bell, and if hers happened to suit him he would be happy to use it. Finally, she went away, leaving both her story and her poems in his hands, and with a large parcel of Joy-bells under her arm.
"I will let you know my decision in a few days," said the editor, with a very suave smile. "Oh, yes, as to terms, we can talk them over when I discover if your story is likely to suit me."
Then Jasmine went away trembling with delight.
"Oh, Poppy!" she said, "how very, very happy I am."