Flattered by this appeal to and acceptance of his manhood, Cupid confessed.

“Well, don’t have the nasty old stuff, then,” said he.  “I thought I was doin’ you a good turn.  Thought gells liked strange men makin’ ’em presents.  The feller said ’twould be good business for you as well as me.  And he tipped me fifty cents to pass you on the box.  Suppose I must hand it back to him now.”

“Do, Cupid dear,” urged Win.  “But you shan’t lose by that.  I know you meant no harm, and I’ll give you fifty cents myself when I get my pay.”

“What kind of a jay do you take me for?” snorted Cupid.  “Men don’t accept no lucre from ladies where I live.  I’ll go chuck the guy back his marshmallers and his dirty money, since you put it that way, my baby doll.”

“Where is he?  Waiting for you somewhere to hear the news?”

Cupid tossed his curls in the direction of the moving staircase, which in Toyland was known as the “Oscillator.”  A bored-looking youth was stationed officially at the top in order to catch any ascending lady who might threaten to fall; but as only the oldest and frailest ever did so, his bored expression had become chronic.

“Chap’s down at the foot o’ that,” confessed the boy.  “But say, won’t you just look and see if there’s a note under the cover?  Maybe he’s slipped in a Christmas gift of a hundred-dollar bill or a diamond tiarey.”

“I’ve no curiosity,” said Win.  “You may tell your friend that, and—–­”

“Oh, I know!  Tell him he’d darned better not try the same snap again.”

“Yes,” laughed Win.  “Exactly.”

Cupid darted away with the box, striding down the “osculator” as it came rolling up, a feat forbidden.  But the boy was a law unto himself and was seldom scolded.  When he had gone Win wished that she had thought to ask how the man had found out her liking for marshmallows But perhaps he had invited a suggestion from Cupid.  Or the marshmallows might be a coincidence.

She did not for an instant doubt that the would-be giver was Mr. Logan, and she half hoped there was a note inside the box, in order that he might feel the mortification of getting it back unopened.  She hoped, also, that the disappointment might be a lesson which Mr. Logan would take to heart, and—­unless he were prepared to transfer his attentions to Miss Leavitt or some one else equally ready to receive them—­that he would not again invade the busy land of toys.

An hour later, however, he returned and loitered about, ostentatiously waiting until Miss Leavitt should be free to serve him.  Win was showing dolls to a fussy woman who could not be satisfied with the most beguiling porcelain or waxen smile.  At last, having looked at several dozens, she flounced away, announcing that she would go to Bimgel’s.  This threat, being uttered in a voice intentionally shrill, was overheard by the hovering floorwalker, Mr. Tobias.