"Well, I never thought of their not coming."
"A perfect fizzle," said Hugh, pocketing the bombshells with a frown of disappointment. "The whole day—just as I told you."
"We may as well go home"—in Douglas's voice, but without its usual ring, as they slowly left the waiting-room.
"We mustn't let the weather get the best of us," said Douglas, as they reached home. "We can at least give the others a good time."
So they went up stairs, and played nine-pins with the boys, and were targets for their torpedoes, until the attic rang with merry shouts.
"The little ones are having quite a day, after all," thought Mrs. Oliver, a pleased smile on her face, "and Bridget at last has that long-promised morning out."
Another disappointment came with dinner—a dispatch from Mr. Oliver, stating that he was called on urgent business out of Boston, and preferred the boys did not come into town alone.
"That caps the climax," said Hugh, abruptly leaving the table. "And it's clearing up, too. I should think papa might take one holiday in the year for a change."
The boys had their heads together after dinner. Hugh had made up his mind to accept the situation; indeed, he had done more than that in going on with the train of thought that Douglas's unselfish suggestions of the morning had opened to him.
"Why, it's a splendid idea, Hugh," Douglas was saying. "Maggie will get us cloths and water, and we'll lock the library doors."