“He wants to make a hit with Polly,” said Lee. “He’s a fox.”
“I’ve never seen her,” Starling denied.
“Well, she’s a mighty pretty girl,” George avowed. “If you don’t believe me, ask Nod.”
Laurie looked intensely innocent and very surprised. “Why me?” he asked blandly.
George shook his head, grinning. “You can’t get away with it, son! Think I didn’t see you making love to the old lady this afternoon?”
“Well,” Laurie laughed, “I thought it was Polly you spoke of.”
“Sure, but she was busy waiting on a bunch of juniors and so you made up to the Widow. We saw you smirking and talking sweet to her, didn’t we, Lee? Butter wouldn’t have melted in the dear lamb’s mouth. And I thought the old lady seemed rather taken with him, too; didn’t you, Lee?”
“Rather! It was positively sickening! Talk about foxes—”
“Oh, dry up and blow away!” muttered Laurie. “Say, the rain’s stopped now—pretty nearly.”
“Wants to get away from the embarrassing subject,” George confided to Starling. “Well, I never desert a pal, Nod. Come on, we’ll trot along. Much obliged for taking us in, Starling. Hope we haven’t ruined your rug. Half-past three to-morrow, if the courts are dry. I’ll meet you in School Hall.”