Pat’s face fell and he sighed reproachfully.
“There, I suppose you’re right; I’ll be getting my coat.”
“Pat, do you like to work the lantern for lecture?”
“I do not; well, that’s not always.”
“How about tonight?”
“Tonight?” Pat hesitated, tried to keep his reserve, and then gave it up. “It’s like this, Miss, tonight I made plans to go to the village, and so you can see that this lecture coming sudden like, is not, in a manner of speaking, welcome to me.”
“Hard luck; I’m sorry,” Polly said airily.
“It can’t be helped, though; I guess we’d better start.” They left the power house and had gone about a hundred feet when Polly stopped.
“Gracious, Pat, I’ve left my Latin book in the power house. I’ll have to go back for it. There goes the bell; you’d better hurry.”
Professor Irvington Hale mounted the platform in Assembly room at exactly seven-fifteen. He was a young old man with a knotty forehead and very large ears. He wore horn rim glasses and he carried a black ebony pointer in one hand. Betty described him adequately when she whispered to Lois: “He’s an owl.”