“Kewpie,” said Polly, “you’re perfectly silly.”
“Oh, I’m just a nut,” agreed the boy cheerfully. “Well, I guess I’ll go over to the field and see what’s doing. If you see Nod tell him I’m looking for him, will you?”
Polly looked after him concernedly. Something was wrong with Kewpie. He seemed gloomy and almost—almost reckless! Of late he had rioted in sweets and the stickiest of fountain mixtures, which was not like him. She wondered if he had a secret sorrow, and decided to speak to Laurie and Ned about him.
Polly Deane was rather pretty, with an oval face not guiltless of freckles, brown hair and brown eyes and a nice smile. She was not quite sixteen years old. Polly’s mother—known to the boys of Hillman’s School as the “Widow”—kept the little blue-painted shop, and Polly, when not attending the Orstead High School, helped her. The shop occupied the front room on the ground floor. Behind it was a combined kitchen, dining and living room, and up-stairs were two sleeping chambers. Mrs. Deane could have afforded a more luxurious home, but she liked her modest business and often declared that she didn’t know where she’d find a place more comfortable.
Polly was aroused from her concern over the recent customer by the abrupt realization that he had forgotten to pay for his entertainment. She sighed. Kewpie already owed more than the school rules allowed. Just then the door opened to admit a slim, round-faced boy of about Polly’s age. He had red-brown hair under his blue school cap, an impertinent nose, and very blue eyes. He wore a suit of gray, with a dark-blue sweater beneath the coat. He wore, also, a cheerful and contagious smile.
“Hello, Polly,” was his greeting. “Laurie been in yet?”
“No, no one but Kewpie, Ned. He was looking for Laurie, too. He’s just gone.”
“Well, I don’t know where the silly hombre’s got to,” said the new-comer. “He was in class five minutes ago, and then he disappeared. Thought he’d be over here. I’d like a chocolate ice-cream soda, please. Say, don’t you hate this kind of weather? No ice and the ground too wet to do anything on. Funny weather you folks have here in the East.”
“Oh, it won’t be this way long,” answered Polly as she filled his order. “The ground will be dry in a day or two, if it doesn’t rain—or snow again.”