Polly's Southern Cruise

by Lillian Elizabeth Roy

As the Fabian car came up close to the Dalken yacht, Mr. Fabian leaned out of the open window to try and see if he recognized the number of friends who had come to wish them bon voyage. When he drew back into the automobile he was smiling. The girls had no time to ask him the cause of his amusement, because the chauffeur stopped the car and immediately, a number of handsome young men crowded close to the door and began showering questions upon the youthful occupants.

Then Polly got out and looked around, fully expecting to find her father and mother waiting to surprise her at her sailing away for the adventure to Southern Seas. But the girls were doomed to a fall in their vanity—thinking all these persons on the dock were assembled to bid them goodby! To their chagrin they saw that the majority of merry-makers were there to see another family of friends off! not one of them had the slightest acquaintance with Mr. Dalken’s party.

In the group eagerly waiting for the last arrivals—the unit composed of Mr. and Mrs. Fabian and Nancy, Polly and Eleanor,—were to be seen our old friends Mr. and Mrs. Latimer and Tom. Tom had come all the way from the mine at Pebbly Pit in order to see Polly, and hold her hand just once before having her go so far away. There, too, were Dr. and Mrs. Evans and Kenneth; John Baxter and Mrs. Courtney. Evidently the owner of the yacht and his daughter Elizabeth were already on board, as a shout, to attract Polly’s attention to the beautiful craft, came from a number of young persons who were talking in the prow of the yacht.

“Look, Nolla! Isn’t that Paul Stewart and Pete Maynard up there with Elizabeth Dalken?” whispered Polly hurriedly, as she tried to see who were the individual members in the group.

“Well! If that doesn’t beat all! Come on, Poll—let’s run in and shake hands. I haven’t had a word with Paul for so long that my tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth.” And Eleanor ran.

Polly was forcibly detained at the moment she started to follow Eleanor. Tom Latimer had caught hold of her coat sleeve and was saying: “Aren’t you going to wait here to see John and Anne when they arrive?”

“Oh! Aren’t we all going on board? Why not visit with John and Anne, and all the rest of you, while on the yacht?” asked Polly.

Tom always became humble when in Polly’s presence, and this occasion was no exception to the rule. He meekly followed at Polly’s heels as she led the way up the steps of the wharf to the gangplank. In another moment Polly was surrounded by her young friends and dragged to the luxurious lounging room on the deck, where wicker chairs and tables and divans invited one to sit and enjoy life.

A few moments after seating herself in one of the wide-armed chairs—chosen in order to compel Tom to select another chair and not try to squeeze close to her side as he would have done had she seated herself on the divan—Polly saw Mr. Dalken hurrying to join the group of young friends.

“Oh, Polly! I had a ’phone message from John—he says Anne and he just got in at Grand Central and would hurry here in a taxi. He must be almost here by this time, I judge, so you keep on the look-out for them, will you? I have so many other things to attend to,” was Mr. Dalken’s request.