Eleanor hung up the receiver and listened intently to hear if anyone was stirring upstairs. All was quiet, so she placed the photograph back on the shelf and crept upstairs again. She jumped into bed shivering, after being exposed so long to the cold, downstairs. But utter weariness soon brought her sleep and all was forgotten until breakfast time.
Mr. Maynard, speaking, woke Eleanor. She sat up and rubbed her eyes sleepily. “Thank goodness, we do not have to go to school for a whole week!” declared she, throwing a shoe at Polly’s half-buried head.
“Polly! Pol-le—ee! Wake up!”
“Wha-foh?” grunted Polly, half-dazed.
Then both girls heard Mr. Maynard call: “I’ll be right back to breakfast, Mrs. Stewart—I’m going to the corner for the papers.”
Eleanor suddenly remembered her share in the telling of the story about the fire, and she jumped out of bed. “I’m going to hurry down and read what the paper says about the fire,” said she.
Polly turned over and stretched lazily. “I don’t care what they say. I’m going to sleep all day.”
Eleanor was annoyed. “No, you won’t! We’ve got to keep a date with Mr. Fabian this noon, and you’ve got to get up!”
“Oh, that’s so! Mr. Fabian is going to take us to Grand Central Palace to show us how carpets are made. I forgot that exhibition was to-day.” And Polly jumped up at that remembrance when other things had failed to move her.
The girls were downstairs in time to open the front door for Mr. Maynard. He was grinning teasingly, as he tried to keep a great mass of morning papers from slipping out from under his arm. He held out an opened sheet for the girls to see.