Perched upon her stile, in smiling patience Patricia waited “until the cows came home,” while Mortimer Crabb, who had been notified over the telephone of the disaster, drove up to see the final chapter in Jimmy McLemore’s undoing. For the farmer came and at some pains extracted him from his perilous post. The Crabbs drove McLemore to his home in their motor and then ran over to the Norths to hear how the cross-country match had finished. The happy couple met them at the steps.
“The ball is in the hole, Patty, dear,” said Steve Ventnor. “Do I win the Cup?”
“You do,” said Patricia, looking at her watch, “by three hours and a half. And it’s a loving-cup, Steve, with cupids and things, I had it made especially for you and Aurora.”
Aurora kissed Patricia with enthusiasm.
“How did you know, Patty, it was to be Steve?”
“Simplest thing imaginable! Because Steve is the most adorable boy, always excepting Mort, that was ever born—and then you know, Aurora—you couldn’t have married Jimmy!”
“That’s true,” said Aurora, thinking of Jimmy’s legs in the apple-tree, “I really couldn’t.”
Steve refused to return to the Crabbs’ to dinner, so the Makers of Opportunities departed alone. Mortimer drove slowly through the gathering dusk and Patricia sat silent.
“Are you happy, Patty?” he asked, at last.