"But you must," declared Joel, growing savage; "I tell you, it just ruins college life for Dave, and he's so bright, and leads his class, I don't see how you can."
"Oh, we're awfully proud of him," said Bingley, leaning heavily on the table, "of course, and trot him out behind his back for praises and all that, but when it comes to giving up that sweet name—that's another thing," he added regretfully. "However, I'll do it, and make the other fellows, if I can."
"Good for you!" cried Joel gratefully. "Good-night, Bingley; sure you don't want any help to your room?"
"Sure," declared Bingley, going out unsteadily and shutting the door.
Joel threw himself on his knees by the side of the easy-chair, and burrowed his head deep within it. "Oh, if I only had Mamsie's lap to lay it in," he groaned, "and Mamsie's hands to go over it."
"Joe—Joe!" David flung wide the door, "where are you?" he cried.
Joel sprang to his feet.
"Here's a telegram," said David, waving a yellow sheet at him. "I just met the boy bringing it up. The folks were going to see Jasper—on a surprise party; something happened to the cars, and Polly has her arm broken—but that's all," delivered David, aghast at Joel's face.
"Polly? oh, not Polly?" cried Joel, putting up both hands, and feeling the room turn around with him.
"Yes, Polly," said David; "don't look so, Joe," he begged, feeling his own cheeks getting white, "it's only broken—it can't be bad, for we are not to go, Grandpapa says; see," shaking the telegram at him.