Polly's Senior Year at Boarding School Part 8

"Poor, darling mother, we are interested," Lois protested, "but we're--"

"Fussed." Polly finished for her, looking decidedly self-conscious, as she tilted her hat a tiny bit more over one ear.

Uncle Roddy and Dr. Farwell met them for luncheon, and then they heard the plan.

"It's Bob's idea," Uncle Roddy explained, "and here's the schedule.

You," he was looking at Polly and Lois, "and Mrs. Farwell leave for Boston this afternoon. Bob will meet you and take you to dinner, and to-morrow you'll go to the game. Harvard plays Princeton."

"That's hard on you, Lois," Dr. Farwell laughed; he never stopped teasing for one minute.

"What do you think about it, Tiddledewinks?" Uncle Roddy asked.

"It's a perfect plan," Polly said, enthusiastically. "I'm crazy to see Bob. Isn't it a shame about his foot?"

The doctor looked grave.

"Yes, it's too bad; he was laid up for quite a while. Of course, it's all right now, but he lost time, and he's had to make up a lot of work."

"Oh, of course." Polly suddenly realized that Bob's father was not looking at it from quite the same angle that she was.

After luncheon they hurried to the hotel where the Farwells were staying, repacked their bags and were back at the Grand Central in time for their train.

Lois and Polly talked and planned ahead all the way to Boston. They thoroughly enjoyed the coming fun in antic.i.p.ation; but, of course, they never guessed for a second that the real surprise was still ahead.

"There's Bob," Polly exclaimed, as they followed the porter through the gates. "I can see him; he's way at the end of that line of people, and Lois, look who's with him!"

Lois looked. A tall, heavily set fellow, with a very broad pair of shoulders, was waving his hat.

"Frank Preston! Why how do you suppose--" But the rest of the sentence was cut short by the meeting.

"h.e.l.lo, Mother!" Bob began, "how are you?" He turned to the girls.

"Here's a friend of yours, Lo." Then he squeezed Polly's hand till it hurt.

"How do you do, Mrs. Farwell?" Frank shook hands hurriedly and turned to Lois.

"Isn't this bully luck? Gee, I'm glad to see you!" he said, eagerly.

Bob looked in admiration. He wished he had Frank's courage. Why he couldn't even kiss his mother and Lois in public, without blushing, and as for Polly, well, he would have to wait until they were alone before he could tell her how glad he was to see her. But he comforted himself with the thought that he'd be more artistic about it when the time came than Frank had been.

They found their hotel, the same one they had stayed at on their first memorable trip to Boston, and Mrs. Farwell, tired out from her strenuous afternoon, ordered tea at once.

Lois and Frank sat down on a sofa at one end of the room, and Frank explained how Bob had wired him to meet him.

"Of course, I came," he said.

"You are not in the game to-morrow?" Mrs. Farwell asked from behind the tea urn.

"No, worse luck," Frank told her. "I'm only a sub; of course, there's a chance; I may be needed."

"But if you're a sub, how did you manage to get here?" Polly inquired.

"Oh, I managed that all right. I won't break training, though I'm tempted to." He eyed the tea cakes longingly, "and I'll be on hand to-morrow. So that's all right. It's awfully jolly of you people to ask me," he smiled, engagingly, at Mrs. Farwell.

"Why, we're delighted to have you, Frank," she a.s.sured him.

Bob, who had been looking out of the window all this time, turned abruptly.

"Mother, Polly doesn't want any tea, and there's loads of time for a walk; do you mind?" he asked.

His mother laughed. "Not if Polly doesn't, but I should think she'd be tired."

But Polly was not tired. She insisted that she wanted some exercise after the trip on the cars. So Bob took her out.

The sun was just getting ready to set, and they walked towards the river.

"Polly!" Bob said, after they had walked a block in silence.

"Yes--"

"I think this is pretty much O. K., don't you?"

"What, this street?" Polly was very happy and she felt like teasing.

Bob tightened his grip on her arm, started to protest, and then changed his mind.

"Yes, of course, this street; I think it's a lovely street--in fact it's a great favorite of mine," he said instead.

Then Polly was sorry. After a while she said, softly:

"What did you really mean, Bobby?"

"Why, the street."

"Oh, very well, if you don't want to tell me."

"Ha, ha! but I do; I think it's great having you here for the game, and mother and Lois. Wasn't I clever to get Frank to amuse Lo to-night?

We're going to the theater, you know, something musical. I wish he could stay longer, but, of course, he can't; he'll have to return with the defeated team."

"Will they surely be defeated?" Polly asked, seriously. "Bob, I think I'll just die if Harvard doesn't win."

"Don't worry, we will," he a.s.sured her with perfect confidence. Then followed another pause. They had reached the river, and Polly stopped.

"Bob!"

"What is it?"

"I'm awfully sorry about your foot; I can't tell you how sorry, because words are so stupid; the right ones never come when you really want to say something. But I _feel_ about it, oh, awfully! Isn't there even a chance?"