"
"I'm dreaming. I'm just _plain dreaming_ and I'll wake up in a minute
and find I'm Beryl Lynch, poor as ever!" Beryl whispered to herself as
she followed Robin's guardian out into the sunshine of the street. She
felt of her bulging pocketbook, into which she had put the roll of bills
the little collector had smilingly given her, and which Robin's guardian
had counted over, quite seriously. It felt real but it just _couldn't_
be true--
"Now where, my dear? You ought to make this day one you'll never
forget."
"Don't I have to go right back to Wassumsic? Oh, then--then--can I go to
see Jacques Henri and tell him? I know the way--I can take the Ninth
Avenue Elevated--or--Would it be _very_ foolish if I took a taxi?" Beryl
colored furiously.
"Not at all, Miss Beryl, not at all. Take the taxi and keep it there to
return to my house; then you and Miss Effie put your heads together and
decide just what you want to do first with your money."
Beryl rejoiced that it was a nice shiny taxi, quite like a real lady's
car. She sniffed delightedly the leathery smell, sat bolt upright with
her chin in the air.
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