Miss Watts gave a deep sigh of relief. Isabelle began the story of her patriotism. Here and there Larry asked a question, and when the climax was reached, he leaned back and roared. Isabelle’s eyes suddenly misted with tears.
“Oh, but Larry, it isn’t funny, it’s awful! He’s trying to make Wally pay a lot of money for my letters, and if Wally doesn’t pay up, he is going to sell them to a nasty society sheet called Chit-Chat.”
His face was grave enough to suit her now.
“Where is the little whelp?”
“He’s usually across the street looking at the house, or following me around,” she began.
“Ye mean to say he follows ye?”
“You may think I’m to blame, Captain O’Leary, for not telling Mr. Bryce of this, but Isabelle thought it would mean that her parents would keep her indoors. She is dreadfully in disgrace with her parents,” Miss Watts said.
“Poor little crickety-Cricket,” he murmured.
“You don’t blame me, do you, Larry? I know it was silly, but I just wanted to be a patriot, and to practise my French.”