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Page 21
"He won't go home any more,
He won't go home any more,
He won't go home any more,
Way down on the Bingo farm!"
rushed after young Noble, pinioned him, and brought him back.
"See here, Noble," expostulated one of them, who seemed to be a
commanding genius among the rest,--"see here, don't go and be a
spoil-sport! What 's the matter with you? We 're going to chip in for
a good dinner, go to the minstrels, and then,--oh, then we 'll go and
have a game of billiards. You play so well that you won't lose
anything. And if you want money, Will's flush, he 'll lend you a
'tenner.' You know there won't be any fun in it unless you 're there!
We 'll get the last boat back to-night, or the first in the morning."
A letter from his mother lay in Edgar's pocket,--a letter which had
brought something like tears to his eyes for a moment, and over which
he had vowed better things. But he yielded, nevertheless,--that it was
with reluctance did n't do any particular good to anybody, though the
recording angels may have made a note of it,--and strolled along with
the other students, who were evidently in great glee over their triumph.
Meanwhile Polly had been plotting. Her brain was not a great one, but
it worked very swiftly; Dr. George called it, chaffingly, a small mind
in a very active state. Scarcely stopping to think, lest her courage
should not be equal to the strain of meeting six or eight young men
face to face, she stepped softly out of her retreat, walked gently down
the road, and when she had come within ten feet of the group, halted,
and, clearing her throat desperately, said, "I beg your pardon"--
The whole party turned with one accord, a good deal of amazement in
their eyes, as there had not been a sign of life in the road a moment
before, and now here was a sort of woodland sprite, a "nut-brown
mayde," with a remarkably sweet voice.
"I beg your pardon, but can you tell me the way to Professor Salazar's
house? Why" (this with a charming smile and expression as of one
having found an angel of deliverance),--"why, it is--is n't it?--Edgar
Noble of Santa Barbara!"
Edgar, murmuring "Polly Oliver, by Jove!" lifted his hat at once, and
saying, "Excuse me, boys," turned back and, gallantly walked at Polly's
side.
"Why, Miss Polly, this is an unexpected way of meeting you!"
("Very unexpected," thought Polly.) "Is it not, indeed? I wrote you a
note the other day, telling you that we hoped to see you soon in San
Francisco."
"Yes," said Edgar; "I did n't answer it because I intended to present
myself in person to-morrow or Sunday. What are you doing in this
vicinity?" he continued, "or, to put it poetically,
"Pray why are you loitering here, pretty maid?"
"No wonder you ask. I am 'floundering,' at present. I came over to a
Spanish lesson at Professor Salazar's, and I have quite lost my way.
If you will be kind enough to put me on the right road I shall be very
much obliged, though I don't like to keep you from your friends," said
Polly, with a quizzical smile. "You see the professor won't know why I
missed my appointment, and I can't bear to let him think me capable of
neglect; he has been so very kind."
"But you can't walk there. You must have gotten off at the wrong
station; it is quite a mile, even across the fields."
"And what is a mile, sir? Have you forgotten that I am a country
girl?" and she smiled up at him brightly, with a look that challenged
remembrance.
"I remember that you could walk with any of us," said Edgar, thinking
how the freckles had disappeared from Polly's rose-leaf skin, and how
particularly fetching she looked in her brown felt sailor-hat. "Well,
if you really wish to go there, I 'll see you safely to the house and
take you over to San Francisco afterward, as it will be almost dark. I
was going over, at any rate, and one train earlier or later won't make
any difference."
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