They said good-bye at the foot of the back stairs. Paul bowed gallantly and told Erna and Jackie how much he'd enjoyed meeting them, and then he and Flip went out to meet Monsieur Laurens.
"Just a week more, Flip," Paul whispered.
"I know," Flip whispered back, and shivered.
"Don't be scared," Paul told her. "You'll be fine. But Flip, how time has crept up on us!"
"Like the wolf at the door." Flip tried to laugh; then, her voice suddenly pleading, the voice of a very small, frightened girl, she begged, "You'll be there, Paul?"
"I promise," Paul said. "Don't worry, Flip. I'll be there."
10
Friday morning after breakfast the lists for the ski meet were on the board. Flip had rushed through breakfast as usual in order to get a last morning's work-out on her skis, so she was the first to sign up. She took the pencil attached to the board by a long chain and looked at the intermediate events. There was Form, which she signed up for; the short race, which she also signed for, though sprinting was not her strong point; and the long race, for which she had higher hopes. Then there was intermediate jumping, but she didn't sign for that. Madame Perceval had told her that she was good enough to jump without worry if ever there were a necessity or emergency, but the slight stiffness and weakness in her knee held her back more on the jumping than in anything else. So there was her name at the top of the intermediate lists, Philippa Hunter, 97, in careful, decisive lettering. She looked at her name and her stomach seemed to flop over inside of her.
But there isn't time to be scared, she thought. I'd better go out and ski.
When she came back in to get the mail the lists were pretty well filled up. Almost everybody in Flip's class was an intermediate. A few were in the beginners group and Solvei was a senior, but almost all the girls she knew best had signed under her name and none of them had failed to notice Philippa Hunter, 97, at the top of the list.