"
"What did she do with it?"
"She took it and began to turn it around in her hand, rubbing it with
her fingers the way Dorothy does when she's making her clay things."
Mr. Clark brought down his foot with a thump upon the porch.
"I'll bet you five million dollars I know what he's up to!" he
exclaimed.
"What?" "What?" "What?" rang out from every person on the porch.
"I'll go right over there this minute and find out for myself."
"Find out what?"
"Do tell us."
"What do you think it is?"
Mr. Clark paused on the steps as he was about to set off.
"Clay," he answered briefly. "There are capital clays in different parts
of New Jersey. Don't you remember there are potteries that make
beautiful things at Trenton? I shouldn't wonder a bit if that field has
pretty good clay and this man wants to buy it and start a pottery
there."
"Next to my house!" exclaimed Mrs. Smith disgustedly.
"Don't be afraid; if we're ever able to sell the field you're the person
who will get it," promised the old gentleman's sisters in chorus. "We
don't want a pottery on the street any more than you do," they added,
and expressed a wish that their brother might be able to convince the
persistent would-be purchaser of the utter hopelessness of his wishes.
"What do you hear from Stanley?" Mrs. Smith asked.
"He's still quite at sea in Pittsburg--if one may use such an expression
about a place as far from the ocean as that!" laughed Miss Clark.
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