Jasper, running down the avenue with Pickering Dodge at his heels, found them so, and was transfixed with astonishment. “Well, I declare!” He burst into a merry laugh.
“You look like a lot of wax figures,” said Pickering pleasantly; “just about as interesting.” Then they saw Polly Pepper's face.
“Oh, what is it?” cried Jasper, starting forward.
Polly tried to speak cheerfully, but the lump in her throat wouldn't let her say a word.
“If you boys must know,” said Alexia, flouncing up to her feet, “I've been bad and perfectly horrid to that Harrison girl; and I've upset everything; and—and—do go right straight away, both of you, and not stand there staring. I don't think it's very polite.”
“Oh Polly,” cried Jasper, gaining her side, “can't we help?” He was dreadfully distressed. “Do let us.”
Polly shook her head. “No, Jasper, there isn't anything you can do,” she said brokenly.
Pickering thrust his hands in his pockets, and whistled softly. “Girls always get into such rows,” he observed.
“Well, I guess we don't get into worse ones than you boys do, nor half as bad,” cried Alexia crossly, perfectly wild to quarrel with somebody. “And, besides, this isn't the other girls' fault. It's all my fight from beginning to end.”
“Then you ought to be perfectly ashamed of yourself, Alexia,” declared Pickering, not intending to mince matters in the slightest.