Then Polly, prettily, daintily, as she did all things, and with
charming little blushes and hesitations, confessed her secret. In
short, it was her ambition to be a writer, a writer of something worth
while--a great writer. To be a great writer one must know life, and
to know life one must see it--see the world. She ended by asking the
two men if this were not so.

They looked at each other and coughed with evident relief it the
comparative harmlessness of her whim.

"Yes, Polly," said old man Marvin, "a great writer ought to see life in
order to know what he is writing about. But what makes you suspect
that you have the ability to be even an ordinary writer?"

Marvin sire winked at Marvin son and Marvin son winked back, for no man
is too old or too young to enjoy teasing a pretty and serious girl.

Pauline saw the wink, and her foot ceased tracing a pattern in the
carpet and stamped on it instead.

"I'll show you what reason I have to think I can write. My first story
has just been published in the biggest magazine in the country. I have
had a copy of it lying around here for days with my story in it, and
nobody has even looked at it."

Out she flashed, and Harry after her, almost upsetting the butler and
gardener, who appeared in the library doorway. These two worthies
advanced upon the statue of Pallas without noticing the master of the
house sitting behind his big desk. The butler did notice that a large
hound from the stable had followed the gardener into the room.