"Well, you think of something yourself, old man," said Jasper, nodding furiously at him. "Hurry up."
"I'd rather have Polly tell a story than any game you could possibly think of," said Van, going over to her, where she sat on the rug at Phronsie's feet. "Polly, will you?" he asked wheedlingly.
"Don't ask her to-night," interposed Jasper.
"Yes, I shall. It's the only time we shall have," said Van, "before we go back to school. Do, Polly, will you?" he begged again.
"I can't think of the first thing," declared Polly, pushing back little rings of brown hair from her forehead.
"Don't try to think; just spin it off," said Van. "Now begin."
"You're a regular nuisance, Van!" exclaimed Jasper indignantly. "Polly,
I wouldn't indulge him."
"I know Phronsie wants a story; don't you, Phronsie?" asked Van artfully, and running over to peer into her face.
But to his astonishment, Phronsie stood perfectly still. "No," she said again, "I don't want a story; Joey must be sick."
"Jasper," cried Polly in despair, and springing up, "something must be done. Grandpapa's coming; I hear him."