"I wish I might of hed his likeness took. I'm agoin'
to make you take hum this pan of fried cakes Mrs. Holdock fetched in.
They'll help fill up the chillern."
"I don't want to rob you, Mrs. Hudgers," said Amarilly, gazing longingly
at the doughnuts, which were classed as luxuries in the Jenkins's menu.
"I dassent eat 'em, Amarilly. If I et jest one, I'd hev dyspepsy orful,
and folks hez brung in enough stuff to kill me now. It does beat all the
way they bring vittles to a house of mournin'! I only wish Hallie could
hev some of 'em."
CHAPTER IX
The surplice, carefully laundered after the funeral, was ready for new
fields of labor. The tenor, first patron of Amarilly's costuming
establishment, was wont to loiter in the studio of an artist he knew and
relate his about-town adventures. This artist was interested in the
annals of the little scrub-girl and her means of livelihood.
"I have in mind," he said musingly, "a picture of a musician, the light
to be streaming through a stained window on his uplifted head as he sits
at an organ."
"The Lost Chord?" inquired the tenor.
"Nothing quite so bromidic as that," laughed the artist. "I have my
model engaged, and I had intended to have you borrow a surplice for me,
but you may ask your little customer to rent me her gown for a couple of
days."
On receipt of this request delivered through the medium of the ticket-
seller, Amarilly promptly appeared at the studio.
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