Blue-grass and Broadway

"My play, my play, it's sold!" And as she sparkled at him over the letter of Mr. Adolph Meyers held clasped to her gingham bosom, wild roses bloomed in her cheeks and tears sparkled in her gray eyes back of their thick black lashes.


"What play?" demanded Roger, stolid with astonishment.


"The one I wrote last month and the month before, when Mr. Covington said that the mortgage must be paid--or give up Rosemeade. I knew it would kill Grandfather to move him away from the house he was born in, and I couldn't think of anything that would get money quick but coal oil wells and gold mines and plays. It costs money to dig up oil and gold, but it is easy to write a play".


"Oh, is it?" Roger questioned, with a twinkle in his eyes above the freckles.