CHAPTER XXVI

"My dear child, what has happened?" Miss Pritchard cried as Elsie
relieved her of her wraps and bag, and she dropped weakly into a chair.
"I believe your dimples have actually doubled in size since morning.
It's positively uncanny, you know, anything like that. Suppose it
should go further?"

"Like the Cheshire cat's grin? Well--we should worry, Cousin Julia,
dearest. But--what do you think has happened, truly?"

"Your friend from Enderby hasn't appeared?"

"No, this is another sort of bliss. This is--well, dearest darling,
it's just that Mr. Coates has started me on something that--that I
could go on the stage with!"

Miss Pritchard's face fell. "Oh, Elsie, child, what do you mean?" she
asked anxiously. The dimples disappeared but though Elsie spoke
quietly, still there was that wonderful lilt in her voice.

"Just this. He called me into his office this morning and spoke to me
about--my specialty, you know, 'Elsie Marley, Honey.' One day back in
the fall I was showing off with that to some of the girls that were
eating their luncheon together, and he happened by and made me repeat
it. To-day he said he had had it in mind ever since, and had found
that he could adapt it and change the music and make it into a regular
vaudeville feature. He thinks it's a real crackerjack. He's going to
begin right away to give me training in it."

For a moment Miss Pritchard couldn't speak. Then she had to stifle
what started to be a groan. "Oh, my dear child!" she exclaimed.

"It seemed such a lovely ending to a lovely Christmas," said Elsie
wistfully. The girl was absolutely carried away by the excitement of
it. It didn't even occur to her--until she was in bed that night--what
the "ending" of the lovely Christmas was to have been--the ending that
alone was to justify her enjoyment of the holiday and of the days since
she had weighed her action in the balance and found it wanting.

"Oh, Cousin Julia, really when you understand, it's simply wonderful,"
she went on eagerly. "I'm the only one picked out thus far, and you
know most of the others are related to the profession, too. And even
if that thing is so old, I can't help liking it. Most of the things
_are_ rather awful, I must confess."

"But the first year--the first six months! I never dreamed of such a
thing!" Miss Pritchard cried.

"Neither did I, darling dear; that's what makes me so wild with joy,"
said the girl softly.

T