Polly shook her head and looked a trifle shocked, until she caught the smile in Ned’s eyes.
“It doesn’t look as if it would cost much money to paint it,” remarked Ned, looking up at the rear of the little two-and-a-half-story building. “It’s not much more than a doll’s house, anyway. How many rooms are there, Polly?”
“Three upstairs, and then a sort of attic room under the roof; and two downstairs.”
“Uh-huh. I just wondered. It wouldn’t be much of a trick to paint the outside. Bet you I could do it in a couple of days.”
Laurie gasped. “A couple of days! You? How do you get like that? It would take a real painter a week to do it!”
“Maybe; but I’m not a real painter,” answered Ned, grinning. He glanced at the crumpled wad in his hand and held it tentatively toward Polly. “Maybe you’d better take charge of this, Polly, until we decide what to do with it.”
But Polly put her hands resolutely behind her, and shook her head with decision. “No, Ned, I’d rather not. If Mama says she won’t have it, she won’t, and you might just as well give it back to the—the fund.”
Somewhat to Laurie’s surprise, Ned pocketed the money without further protest. “All right,” he said. “It’s very kind of your mother. We mustn’t forget to see that her name’s included in the list of those who donated things, Laurie. This week’s ‘Messenger’ is going to tell all about it. Well, I’ve got to pull my freight. You coming, partner?”
“Yes, I guess so,” replied Laurie, without much enthusiasm. “I promised Bob and George to get another fellow and play some tennis this afternoon.”
“Gee! it must be great to have nothing to do but play,” sighed his brother.