As Polly explained thus in earnest tones, everyone laughed at the two men so calmly criticised for their absorption in patents.
“So I am inclined to believe it was my own Daddy. He always did send me the cutest valentines each year, and I received no card from him this year—so that is who it was!” declared Polly.
“And the only kind of a Cupid to have, these days, Polly,” approved Mr. Dalken.
But the happy circle standing on the platform of the train-shed were now notified that the passengers must get on as the train would leave in a few moments.
Good-bys were said, hands shaken, kisses wafted from the girls to the group remaining in New York, and then the travelers were gone.
Scarcely had the train slowed up in the Chicago Terminal before John and Tom Latimer were on board, pushing a way through the Pullmans, in search of familiar faces.
“There they are—there comes John!” cried Polly, excitedly, jumping up and pointing to the other end of the coach.
“Oh—!” sighed Anne, flushing joyously as her glance rested upon her fiancé.
But John had no eyes for anyone but Anne. Polly was left standing with hands out-stretched, her whole soul quivering with anticipation of her beloved brother’s greeting, and now he forgot she was alive! Then Paul Stewart and Pete Maynard ran in.
Mrs. Stewart was embraced by Paul, and Pete hugged his sister Eleanor. Tom Latimer stood a pace apart, his features working desperately to control his feelings as he saw John joyously scanning Anne’s face, and Polly limply sitting down in the parlor chair. Then he quickly went over and greeted her.