“Hallo!” cried Polly, putting her saucy sunny face in at the door next morning when breakfast was ready: “I thought I was fetched last night?”
“So you were, Polly, but I asked leave to keep you here for the day, and to take you home in the evening.”
“Upon my word!” said Polly. “You are very cool, ain’t you?”
However, Polly seemed to think it a good idea, and added: “I suppose I must give you a kiss, though you are cool.”
The kiss given and taken, they sat down to breakfast in a highly conversational tone.
“Of course, you are going to amuse me?” said Polly.
“Oh, of course!” said Barbox Brothers.
In the pleasurable height of her anticipations, Polly found it indispensable to put down her piece of toast, cross one of her little fat knees over the other, and bring her little fat right hand down into her left hand with a business-like slap. After this gathering of herself together, Polly, by that time a mere heap of dimples, asked in a wheedling manner:
“What are we going to do, you dear old thing?”
“Why, I was thinking,” said Barbox Brothers, “—but are you fond of horses, Polly?”