"It is worth the price," he said, very gently--for him.
"Now, that was your soul speaking!" said Miss Emmeline, warmly.
Instantly The Author wrinkled his nose, bristled his mustache, and
looked like a hyena. Miss Martha Hopkins, worshipfully observant of
the great man, caught his eye at that moment and thought he was
scowling at _her_. She looked so stricken that The Author presently
strolled over and sat down beside her, to her fluttering delight.
But discovering that she was wholly unacquainted with the original
verse of J. Gordon Coogler of Columbia, he first bitterly reproached
her for neglecting home-made talent, and then proceeded to make sure
that she would remember the Bard of the Congaree so long as she
lived.
"Not know Coogler!" cried The Author, shrilly; "ignorant of the bard
raised, so to speak, around your own door-step? Horrible! Listen to
this!" said he, accusingly:
"Fair lady, on that snowy neck and half-clad bosom
Which you so publicly reveal to man,
There's not a single outward stain or speck.
Would that you had given but half the care
To the training of your intellect and heart,
As you have given to that spotless neck!"
"Gracious Heavens!" gasped Miss Martha, who showed a modest
salt-cellar in the mildest of Vs.
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