“So am I,” Jasper bobbed his head in sympathy, “but we boys have some new ones, learned for last exhibition, so Pick won't have to take a moment from his lessons. And then we can have music, and you will play, Polly.”
“Oh Jasper, I've played so much,” said Polly, “they're all tired of hearing me.”
“They never would be tired of hearing you, Polly,” said Jasper simply. “Every one of us thinks you play beautifully.”
“And tableaux and an operetta take just as much time to rehearse,” mused Polly, thinking very hard if there wasn't something to keep them from the dreaded recitations.
“And I just loathe an operetta or tableaux,” exclaimed Jasper, with such venom that Polly burst out laughing.
“Oh Jasper, if you could see your face!” she cried.
“I shouldn't want to,” he laughed too; “but of all insipid things, an operetta is the worst; and tableaux—the way Miss Montague drilled and drilled and drilled us, and then stuck us up like sticks not to move for a half-hour or so, nearly finished me.”
“So it did me,” confessed Polly. “And besides, it would take a great deal more time to go through all that drilling than to rehearse the play.”
“Of course it would,” said Jasper, “so tableaux, thank fortune, are not to be thought of. I think it will have to be recitations and music, Polly.”
“I suppose so,” she said with a sigh. “Oh Jasper!” then she sprang off from her chair, and clapped her hands. “I've thought of the very thing. I believe Mr. Hamilton Dyce would tell some of his funny stories and help out the program.”