“Oh, Poke, I think you might!” wailed Hope. “It’s partly your fault, and you know it is, and I think you might do what you can to—to help.”
“Gee, you talk as though I was to blame for everything,” Poke growled. “Anybody would think—”
“Oh, cut out the grouch,” said Gil. “Nobody’s asking you to do anything except go up there and hear Jeff talk.”
“I think you’d better do the talking,” objected Jeffrey. “You’re the oldest, Gil.”
“You can do it better. If you need help the rest of us will come to your assistance. Ready now? Know what you’re going to say?”
“Not exactly,” laughed Jeffrey, “but I guess I can stumble through with it.”
“Good!” said Jim eagerly. “Let’s go before we lose courage.”
So, Gil and Jeffrey leading and Poke ambling along behind with his hands in his pockets and a general expression of disapprobation about him, the five mounted the stairs and knocked at the door of the instructor’s room. Bidden to enter, [they found Mr. Hanks at his desk], pen in hand and a pile of manuscript at his elbow. He had taken his tea, Hope observed, but nothing else on the tray had been touched. As the embassy filed into the room Mr. Hanks arose from his chair with a look of surprise and embarrassment.
“Good evening, sir,” began Jeffrey. “May we come in for a minute if you’re not too busy?”