"You never would," Lois admonished, crisply. "You'd find it, any amount of it, the minute you heard the signals. I hope—oh, how I hope you have to play."
"Well, if I do," Frank grumbled, "it won't do me any good to remember you're on the Harvard side."
"Now, you're silly," Lois teased. "What difference does it make where I sit, so long as I root for Princeton?"
"Do you mean that?" Frank demanded. "Do you honestly want us to win? Gee, that's great! I sort of thought, because of Bob—"
"Oh, Bob! Well, you see there's Polly," Lois said, demurely, just as the curtain rose for the last act.
Thanksgiving morning was all glorious sunshine. There was not a single cloud in the sky, and the air was just the right football temperature.
"Everything O. K., so far," Bob said, joyfully, as he joined his mother and the girls at breakfast. "What'll we do this morning to kill time?"
"Lois wants to go to the Library and see the Abbey pictures," Mrs. Farwell answered.
Bob looked his disgust—he appealed to Polly—but for the first time she deserted him.
"I'm going too, Bobby. I guess you'll have to find something to do until luncheon," she said.