But they weren't—not a bit of it—and had ten minutes to spare as they came rushing up to the station platform.
“Oh, look—look, girls.” Polly Pepper pointed up to the clock, pushing back the damp rings of hair from her forehead. “Oh dear me—I'm so hot!”
“And so am I,” panted the other girls, dashing up. One of them sank down on the upper step, and fanned herself in angry little puffs with her hat, which she twitched off for that purpose.
“Just like you, Alexia,” cried one when she could get her breath, “you're always scaring us to death.”
“Well, I'm sure I was scared myself, Clem,” retorted Alexia, propping herself against the wall. “Oh dear! I can't breathe; I guess I'm going to die—whew, whew!”
As Alexia made this statement quite often on similar occasions, the girls heard it with the air of an old acquaintance, and straightened their coats and hats, and pulled themselves into shape generally.
“Oh my goodness, how you look, Sally! Your hat is all over your left eye.” Alexia deserted her wall, and ran over to pull it straight.
“You let me be,” cried Sally crossly, and twitching away. “If it hadn't been for you, my hat would have staid where I put it. I'll fix it myself.” She pulled out the long pin.
“Oh dear me! now the head has come off,” she mourned.
“Oh my goodness! Your face looks the worst—isn't it sweet!” cried Alexia coolly, who hadn't heard this last.