“Let him do it,” he said.
So Ned confessed about the telegram to Mr. Goupil, taking rather more credit to himself than, perhaps, the facts warranted—something that might have brought a protest from Laurie had that youth been any longer interested in what to him seemed now a closed incident. Polly exclaimed applaudingly; Mae clapped her hands; and Mrs. Deane, proud of the fact that for once in her life she had managed, if only for a few short hours, to keep something secret from her daughter, beamed. Then praise was fairly lavished on Laurie and Ned, the former receiving the lion’s share, since the brilliant idea had been born in his stupendous brain. Laurie looked decidedly bored, and the feminine portion of the assembly credited his expression to modesty.
“Oh, Laurie,” exclaimed Polly, “I think you’re perfectly wonderful! Don’t you, Mae?”
Mae was enthusiastically affirmative.
“It was just the one absolutely practical thing to do,” continued Polly. “And I don’t see how Mr. Gou—Gou—whatever his name is—will dare to go on with his disgusting plan, do you? If that telegram doesn’t make him perfectly ashamed of himself, it—it—well, it ought to!”
“Sort of funny, though,” said Ned, “that he hasn’t answered before this. If he doesn’t answer at all—well, do you think we ought to send him another, Laurie?”
Laurie shook his head. “No good,” he said briefly.
“Oh, but he will answer it,” declared Polly. “Why, he’d simply have to! His own self-respect would—would demand it!”
“Of course!” agreed Mae. “Maybe there’s a telegram waiting for you now, Laurie.”