To this end she brushes off the walk, lays a carpet on the steps, puts flowers in the vases, orders up a lot of fancy food and drink (from the very admirable Hotel Mason), turns on the lights and the Victor, leaves the front door invitingly open, and hopes for the best.  Soon people begin to come in, but as she meets them she discovers that most of them have come to see papa on business; only a few have come on her account.  They help themselves to sandwiches, look about the room, and listen to what Miss Jacksonville has to say.

Time passes.  Nothing happens.  She asks how they like the chairs.

“Very comfortable,” they assure her.

“Do have some more to eat and drink,” says she.

“What is your history?” a guest asks her presently.

“I haven’t much history to speak of,” she replies.  “They tell me Andrew Jackson had his territorial government about where my house stands, but I don’t know much about it.  We don’t care much about history in our family.”

“What do you do with yourself?”

“Oh, I keep house, and go occasionally to the Woman’s Club, and in the evenings father tells me about his business.”

“Very nice,” says one guest, whom we shall picture as a desirable and wealthy young man from the North.  “Now let’s do something.  Do you play or sing?  Are you athletic?  Do you go boating on the St. John’s River?  Do you gamble?  Can you make love?”

“I dance a little and play a little golf out at the Florida Country Club,” she says, with but small signs of enthusiasm.  “The thing I’m really most interested in, though, is father’s business.  He lost a lot of money in the fire of 1901, but he’s made it all back and a lot more besides.”

“What about surf-bathing?” asks the pleasure-seeking visitor, stifling a yawn.

“There’s Atlantic Beach only eighteen miles from here.  It’s a wonderful beach.  Father’s putting a million in improvements out there, but there’s no time to go there just now.  However, if you’d like to, I can take you down and show you the new docks he has built.”

“Oh, no, thanks,” says the guest.  “I don’t care for docks—­not, that is, unless we can go boating.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” says Miss Jacksonville.  “We don’t use the river much for pleasure.  I can’t say just why, unless it is that every one is too busy....  But please eat something more, and do have something to drink.  There’s plenty for every one.”

“I must be running along,” says the visitor.  “I’ve been invited to call at some other houses down the block.  By the way, what is the name of your neighbor next door?”

“St. Augustine,” says Jacksonville, with a little reluctance.  “She is of Spanish descent and sets great store by it.  If you call there she’ll show you a lot of interesting old relics she has, but I assure you that when it comes to commercial success her family isn’t one-two-three with papa.”