"I won't, I won't, on my oath!" Connie promised, laughing. "I'll even contradict all these people who are calling you a brave heroine, if you say so."
"I wish you would," Polly said, crossly. "Heroine! how perfectly silly."
"Of course it is, now that I come to think of it. You didn't do anything so great," Connie teased, "just stopped a couple of wildly running horses, and saved fifteen girls from sudden death—and what's that? A mere nothing."
"Connie, I'll—" Polly threatened, sitting up in bed, but Connie pushed her back. "You'll behave like a good child and answer me some questions."
"Well, go ahead and ask them."
"First, what's wrong with Dot Mead? I heard her say to one of the girls: 'Polly's bravery is so awfully evident, that it almost looks like showing off,' and when Dorothy Lansing said: 'I think so, too,' I simply couldn't help laughing. It was so like the Dorothys."
"Who were they talking to?" Polly asked, indifferently.
Connie smiled at a sudden recollection.
"A girl named Eleanor Trent. She was furious. She told them they were jealous cats. Imagine!"
Polly smiled grimly. "Eleanor Trent is on my team; she naturally would resent it. Hasn't Ange told you about the fuss yesterday, with the Dorothys?"