Polly turned to her friends and said: “Oh, I’m sure Dalky will succeed in getting them off for a few days. I really believe Dalky can do anything!”
Eleanor glanced at Mrs. Courtney as Polly spoke, and caught a puzzling expression which had flashed over that lady’s face. In a moment, however, she was as inscrutable as ever she cared to appear.
“We may as well go into this shop and have a lemonade while we are waiting for the returns of the election,” suggested Mr. Ashby.
“Do you think it will take the boys very long to find the officer who can permit them to get off tonight?” asked Polly.
“I have an idea that Bill will know exactly where to find his superiors and not more than half an hour should elapse before they will come back,” returned Mr. Ashby, glancing at his watch.
“I was about to say—that we should have gone on to the yacht and dressed for to-night, if they are to be gone as long as that,” ventured Polly.
“I tell you what we might do!” cried Eleanor, plumping her glass upon the marble slab with such emphasis that the lemonade spattered up and over her hands. “Leave Mr. Fabian and Mr. Ashby at this corner so the others can see them upon their return, and we ladies go on to the yacht and touch up for the evening’s fray.”
“That’s just what I was about to say,” added Mrs. Courtney.
“Where’s the fray? You ladies never thought the superior faction of this yachting party worthy of captivation before,” remarked Mr. Fabian cynically, albeit he smiled.
“I should say not! Two old married fogies, two harum-scarum boys, and a grass-widower!” exclaimed Nancy Fabian.