The maid opened the door, and looked sorry for him.
“Miss Polly? Are the ladies in?” stammered Tom.
“No’m—no-sir, I mean,” returned the maid, confused at his certainty of finding them at home. “They went out an hour ago, after tryin’ to get you on the ’phone. They says they won’t be back till after midnight, sir.”
“Did they say where they were going?” asked Tom.
“No’m—No-sir! But I hear’n Miss Polly talk to someone on the ’phone and she says: ‘Oh how lovely! We’ll all go with you. And we’ll meet you there for dinner,’” repeated the maid. “You see, I was openin’ th’ door to take more presents for the young ladies, so I hear’n that much of the talk from the table ’phone in the back hall.”
Tom thanked her with a sinking heart, and turned away. Once more his fingers mechanically felt for the ring box but he experienced no thrill this time, when he found it was safe.
He walked slowly cross-town and recklessly passed over Broadway with its traffic in full swing, looking neither to the right nor to the left. The officer shouted to rouse him from his apathy, but it failed to work.
He reached the park and found a bench. There he sat down without looking at the seat. A frantic boy ran over and yelled: “Get up, mister! Get up—you’se sittin’ on my Chrismus candy!”
Tom got up as mechanically as an automaton, but a few of the gummy candies clung to his coat-tails, while the boy fearful of losing such treasure ran after the man to pick off the sticky sweets.
When he found another bench that was clear, and no boys nearby to worry his soul, Tom sat down and sulked. Having practised so faithfully all that day, in adding the finishing touches of grace to his lesson of proposing, it was a bitter dose to find all his work was wasted. Polly had joyfully accepted someone else’s invitation to go away and have a good time, leaving him alone and heart-broken.