Perry shook his hands despairingly.
"You have come to a poor person at such business, Perry," said I.
"What little I know of courting I have from books, and it seems to me
that the usual thing is flowers--violets--roses."
My friend straightened up in his chair and gazed at me very long and
hard. From me his eyes wandered to the calendar that hung behind my
desk.
"November--November," he muttered. "A touch of snow too--and violets
and roses."
He leaned toward me fiercely. "Violets come in May," he said. "This
here is a matter of weeks."
"I'm serious, Perry," said I. "Books are the thing, and flowers; not
wreaths and statues and paintings. You must send something that
carries some sentiment with it."
He saw that I was in earnest, and his countenance became brighter.
"Geraniums," he muttered; thumping the table. "I'll get Mrs. Arker to
let me have one of them window-plants of hers, and I'll put it in a new
tomato-can and paint it. How's that for a starter?"
"I've never read about men sending geraniums," I replied.
Pages:
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150