"Boston. Last night. I had to see you, Pollyanna."
"To—see—m-me?" Pollyanna was plainly fencing for time to regain her composure. Jimmy looked so big and strong and DEAR there in the door of the summerhouse that she feared her eyes had been surprised into a telltale admiration, if not more.
"Yes, Pollyanna; I wanted—that is, I thought—I mean, I feared—Oh, hang it all, Pollyanna, I can't beat about the bush like this. I'll have to come straight to the point. It's just this. I stood aside before, but I won't now. It isn't a case any longer of fairness. He isn't crippled like Jamie. He's got feet and hands and a head like mine, and if he wins he'll have to win in a fair fight. I'VE got some rights!"
Pollyanna stared frankly.
"Jimmy Bean Pendleton, whatever in the world are you talking about?" she demanded.
The young man laughed shamefacedly.
"No wonder you don't know. It wasn't very lucid, was it? But I don't think I've been really lucid myself since yesterday—when I found out from Jamie himself."
"Found out—from Jamie!"
"Yes. It was the prize that started it. You see, he'd just got one, and—"
"Oh, I know about that," interrupted Pollyanna, eagerly. "And wasn't it splendid? Just think—the first one—three thousand dollars! I wrote him a letter last night. Why, when I saw his name, and realized it was Jamie—OUR JAMIE—I was so excited I forgot all about looking for MY name, and even when I couldn't find mine at all, and knew that I hadn't got any—I mean, I was so excited and pleased for Jamie that I—I forgot—er—everything else," corrected Pollyanna, throwing a dismayed glance into Jimmy's face, and feverishly trying to cover up the partial admission she had made.