Dorothy listened in sheer amazement, as Eleanor spoke with all the assurance possible. But Dorothy was not aware of Eleanor’s lifelong training in the home of a social leader of Chicago’s exclusive set. That such a home-training made a girl precocious and subtle, was not strange, and Eleanor had had fourteen years of such a life before she went to Pebbly Pit and met Polly. Habits so well-engrounded are not easily broken, or forgotten.
“Then the sender ought to have sent his message to one of the adults of the party. Even I misjudged the matter, because I thought this ‘Tom’ must be a faithful admirer of Miss Polly’s to get through to visit the steamer tonight,” explained the operator.
“But he isn’t coming alone—didn’t you stop to consider that?” asked Eleanor, eagerly. “Seeing that most of the friends are Polly’s personal ones, the wire was sent to her, you know.”
“I see.”
“The only thing that hurt me, was that no one sent me a message. Tom is as dear to me as to Polly, and I wonder he did not wire me.”
“Perhaps this Tom thought you would have scores of eager messages the moment your beaus knew you were near enough to get them,” laughed the young officer.
“Well, they didn’t! But I want you to do something for me—will you?” asked Eleanor, quite unexpectedly.
“I will if I can,” agreed the officer.
“Write off a fake message for me and sign some make-believe name to it, so I can hold my head up with Polly. She will never let me rest if she thinks she got a line, and I didn’t!”
“Oh, that is easy to do. As long as we know it will never come out, and that I wrote a line to you, it will be a good joke.”