CHAPTER XII.
IN WHICH JOHNNY EVEN DOES BUSINESS AT THE BABIES' FUND FAIR "I wish I could write poetry," regretted Johnny, looking across at Constance Joy in the violet booth.
"Why don't you try it ?" asked Polly Parsons, following his gaze and comprehending his desire perfectly, for she, too, was a rabid Constancite.
"I did," he confessed with a disappointed laugh.

"I hadn't the nerve to be mushy enough, though--and nothing else seems to be real poetry.

I got one line that listened like the goods, but I couldn't match it up: 'As I lie awake and look at the stars--' Pretty good start, eh?
How do you find a rhyme for it ?" "You go down through the alphabet," Polly advised him, rather proud to be able to answer him so promptly.

"Bars, cars, fars, jars--that way, you know.

How I found out is that Sister Winnie writes so much poetry." "She's a great kid," laughed Johnny.