“Wasn't it?” cried Jasper heartily. “Well, now, Polly,” flinging himself down on the next chair, “it's just this. Do you know, I don't believe we ought to have our play.”
“Not have our play?” Polly peered around to look closely into his face. “What do you mean, Jasper?”
“You see, Polly, Pick was to take a prominent part, and he ought not to, you know; it will take him from his lessons to rehearse and all that. And he's so backward there's a whole lot for him to make up.”
“Well, but Pickering will have to give up his part, then,” said Polly decidedly, “for we've simply got to have that play, to get the money to help that poor brakeman's family.”
Jasper winced. “I know; we must earn it somehow,” he said.
“We must earn it by the play,” said Polly. “And besides, Jasper, we voted at the club meeting to have it. So there, now,” she brought up triumphantly.
“We could vote to rescind that vote,” said Jasper.
“Well, we don't want to. Why, Jasper, how that would look on our two record books!” said Polly in surprise, for Jasper was so proud of his club and its records.
“Yes, of course; as our two clubs united that evening, it must go down in both books,” said Jasper slowly.
“Yes, of course,” assented Polly happily. “Well, now, you see, Jasper, that we really can't give it up, for we've gone too far. Pickering will have to let some one else take the part of the chief brigand.” For the little play was almost all written by Polly's fingers, Jasper filling out certain parts when implored to give advice: and brigands, and highway robberies, and buried treasures, and rescued maidens, and gallant knights, figured generously, in a style to give immense satisfaction.