“Say, Polly,” exclaimed Ruth that night, as the girls sat around in the living-room, after they were undressed, combing their hair, and chatting girl fashion, “isn’t it queer that people who lead lives of danger never seem to think anything of it at all?”
Combing Their Hair and Chatting, Girl Fashion
“You’re never afraid of anything you know all about,” Kate put in. “It’s the unknown danger that scares you.”
“I mean firemen, and soldiers, and life-savers—”
“And mothers and fathers, and heroes generally,” put in Polly, as she sat on a sofa cushion, her long, brown curls falling loosely around her, and her pink kimono slipped on over her night gown, for the nights were always cool on the bay. “I know what you mean, Ruth. It’s because they have so much else to think about that they haven’t time to worry. Tom’s all ready to make a business of being a hero, and he doesn’t realize it is being a hero. He thinks it’s lots of fun.”
“Girls,” called out Sue from the table, where she was tracing strange figures on a sheet of paper, “does the course cut around this side of Smugglers’ Cove, or the Inlet side?”
“Inlet,” Polly replied. “It’s a straight line due northeast, then east by southeast for the channel.”
“Then we can see it better from our own porch than from the Orienta.”
“I know we can, but we’re going over to the Orienta, because grandfather will be there, we hope, and we want to be all mixed in with the really, truly yachtsmen.”