Applause was loud and prolonged. The twins bowed repeatedly, their hands on their hearts, their eyes languishing gratitude on the appreciative audience.
“Why,” exclaimed Miss Comfort, with the tone of one making a surprising discovery, “it was poetry!”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Laurie defensively, “but we warned you!”
Miss Comfort looked a trifle puzzled until Polly laughingly assured her that she mustn’t mind Laurie, that he was always saying silly things. Whereupon the little lady said disapprovingly: “You mustn’t say that, Polly. I’m sure Mr. Laurie isn’t silly. Sometimes I don’t quite understand him, my dear, but I’m sure he isn’t silly!”
“You’re a perfect dear!” replied Polly rapturously.
Laurie had seized his cap and Mae’s umbrella. “Back in five minutes,” he said from the doorway.
“Hold on! Where are you going?” demanded Ned.
“Got to see Brose Wilkins a minute about—about something.”
“Well, make it peppy,” said Ned. “We’re not going to wait for you long, old son.”
Laurie’s five minutes was more like fifteen, but he returned at last and they said good-by and were almost on their way when Miss Comfort sent Laurie’s heart down toward his shoes. “Mr. Laurie,” she asked apologetically, “I wonder if you’d mind stopping in to see me for a minute to-morrow.”