Maxwell shoved his chair against the wall and transacted business after the manner of a toe dancer.
Maxwell turned half around, with his hands full of papers and ticker tape.
"You are losing your mind, Pitcher," said Maxwell. "Why should I have given you any such instructions?
On the floor they were pounding half a dozen stocks in which Maxwell's customers were heavy investors.
Maxwell stood by his desk with his hands full of telegrams and memoranda, with a fountain pen over his right ear and his hair hanging in disorderly strings over his forehead.
"By George, I'll do it now," said Maxwell, half aloud.
"Carefully tied with pink and blue ribbons?" asked Miss Maxwell, with a whimsical smile.
"Solitude!" laughed Miss Maxwell, raising her eyebrows.
They were all bad, and I can't bear to show them; I can write poetry easier and better, Miss Maxwell."
Rebecca took the blank-book in which she kept copies of her effusions and left it at Miss Maxwell's door, hoping that she might be asked in and thus obtain a private interview; but a servant answered her ring, and she could only walk away, disappointed.
A few days afterward she saw the black-covered book on Miss Maxwell's desk and knew that the dreaded moment of criticism had come, so she was not surprised to be asked to remain after class.
Miss Maxwell came and sat by Rebecca's side on the bench.
This ingenuous remark confirmed Miss Maxwell's opinion of Rebecca as a girl who could hear the truth and profit by it.
"Don't go so fast," interrupted Miss Maxwell. "Though they don't amount to anything as poetry, they show a good deal of promise in certain direc- tions.
"Very well; I think that's a delightful plan," said Miss Maxwell; "and whom will you suppose yourself to be?"