“Oh, he’s making visits around the county,” answered George Theodore carelessly. “He always has enough invitations for three, but he was never known to accept any before. I don’t know what’s got into the old boy this year. He’s getting as giddy as a débutante, going to parties and rushing around in motors. I have had to make two trips over to Wellington, first to get his evening clothes because he forgot to pack them, and then for his pumps and dress shirts I forgot myself. When the old boy goes into anything, he always does it in good style. He used to be a kind of dude about ten years ago. But he’s all the way to thirty now and he feels his age. Do you notice how bald he’s getting? He’ll be losing his teeth next.”
“I’m glad he’s having such a good time,” said Molly, disdaining the aspersions cast by George Theodore on his brother’s age. “I hope he is well and happy,” she added in her thoughts. “I am sure I don’t begrudge him a jolly Christmas, considering what a jolly one he gave me last year. I am sorry I left the note, now. Like as not, he doesn’t even remember what I said that day and when he reads the letter he won’t know what I am talking about.”
At last the boys left. Judy was intensely relieved. She desired only one thing on earth: to hear Molly’s ghost story. All her perceptions were on edge with curiosity, but she was determined to have all things in harmony for the telling of a Christmas Eve Ghost Story. So she restrained her inquisitiveness until they had slipped on dressing-gowns and were both comfortably installed in big chairs with a box of candy and a plate of salted almonds between them.
“And now, begin,” she said, sighing comfortably.
But Molly had scarcely uttered three words when she was interrupted by the arrival of packages from the late train brought up by the faithful Murphy.
Even Judy’s unsatisfied curiosity regarding the tale could not hold out against these fascinating boxes, and the story waited while they untied the strings and eagerly tore off the paper wrappings.
“I suppose we ought to wait until to-morrow morning, but since we’re just two lonely little waifs, I think we might gratify ourselves this once, don’t you, Molly dear?” asked Judy.
“I certainly do,” Molly agreed, “seeing as it doesn’t matter to anybody whether we look at them now or in the morning.”
It was a long time before they settled down again to the story, and Molly had not advanced a paragraph when there came another tap at the door. Evidently the Quadrangle gates were to be kept open late that night or account of the arrival of holiday packages.
This time it was a boy from the florist’s, fairly laden with flower boxes.