“Well, I'm sure this is the last moment,” said Polly. “The entertainment is to-morrow night, and we've ever so much to do yet. Please, Jasper.” That “please, Jasper,” won the day.
“All right, Polly,” he said. “Well, now let's see what ought to come after Tom's song.”
“Well, Phronsie is very anxious to hear Pickering's piece; I know, because I heard her tell Mamsie so.”
“Why, she has heard Pick recite that ever so many times since he learned it for our school exhibition,” said Jasper.
“And don't you know that's just the very reason why she wants it again?” said Polly, with a little laugh.
“Yes, of course,” said Jasper, laughing too. “Well, she must have it then. So down goes Pick.” He ran to the table drawer and drew out a big sheet of paper. “First, Mr. Dyce, then Tom Beresford, then Pickering Dodge,” writing fast.
“And then,” said Polly, running up to look over his shoulder, “Phronsie wants dreadfully to hear Tom play on his banjo.”
“Oh, Polly,”—Jasper threw back his head to look at her—“I don't believe there'll be time for all that; you know the music by Miss Taylor comes first as an overture. We can't change that.”
“Why,” exclaimed Polly in dismay, “we must, Jasper, get Tom's banjo in; and there's Percy's piece. Phronsie wouldn't miss that for anything.”
“Why, we shall have the whole program in if we keep on,” said Jasper, looking at her in dismay.