"I'm a
Native Daughter."
"Hurrah!" said Nick. "Then I know you won't fail me."
She was too well trained a girl to stare. "Are you a Native Son?" she
ventured, seeing that a lead would be useful.
"No; but I ought to have been. My parents were Californian, and my heart
is and always will be. I have to ask help from a Californian now, for the
honour of California."
Usually, when gentlemen clamoured for help from this young person it was
to find a collar stud. But not even the most cherished collar stud could
concern the honour of the State. She waited, looking sympathetic; for
Nick's eyes would have drawn sympathy from a stone, and Jessy Jones had
not even a pebble in her composition.
"As a Californian, I'm showing California to a lady," he explained. "She's
from Europe, and I don't want her to think the old civilization can
produce anything better than ours."
"I should think not!" retorted the Native Daughter. "What is she looking
for that _we_ can't produce, I'd like to know?"
"A nightgown," confessed Nick, boldly. "You see," he hurried on, "she's
lost the bag she had it in."
"Oh, if that's all, I----"
"Have you seen the lady, over in the annex, in number twenty-three?"
"Yes," said Jessy. "One of the girls told me there was a regular beauty
there, English or something, so I made an errand that way.
Pages:
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340