Part 4 (1/2)

”Oh, no, thanks. I've opened hundreds of them. Oh dear! You said ginger-ale, didn't you! And I've opened a root-beer. It's so dark in here in the afternoon.”

”That's all right,” Ned a.s.sured her. ”We like root-beer. We'd just as soon have it as ginger-ale. Wouldn't we, Laurie?”

”You bet! We're crazy about it.”

”Are you sure? It's no trouble to-Well, _this_ is ginger-ale, anyway.

I'm awfully sorry!”

”What do we care?” asked Ned. ”We don't own it.”

”Don't own it?” repeated Polly, in a puzzled tone.

”That's just an expression of his,” explained Laurie. ”He's awfully slangy. I try to break him of it, but it's no use. It's fierce.”

”Of course _you_ don't use slang?” asked Polly, demurely. ”Who wants the root-beer?”

”You take it,” said Laurie, hurriedly.

”No, you,” said Ned. ”You're fonder of it than I am, Laurie. I don't mind, really!”

Laurie managed a surrept.i.tious kick on his brother's s.h.i.+n. ”Tell you what,” he exclaimed, ”we'll mix 'em!”

Ned agreed, though not enthusiastically, and with the aid of a third gla.s.s the deed was done. The boys tasted experimentally, each asking a question over the rim of his gla.s.s. Then looks of relief came over both faces and they sighed ecstatically.

”Corking!” they breathed in unison.

Polly laughed, ”I never knew any one to do that before,” she said. ”I'm glad you like it. I'll tell the other boys about it.”

”No, you mustn't,” protested Ned. ”It's our invention. We'll call it-call it-”

”Call it an Accident,” suggested Laurie.

”We'll call it a Polly,” continued the other. ”It really is bully.

It's-it's different; isn't it, Laurie? Have another?”

”Who were those on?” was the suspicious reply.

”You. The next is on me. Only maybe another wouldn't taste so good, eh?”

”Don't you fool yourself! I'll risk that.”

However, the third and fourth bottles, properly combined though they were, lacked novelty, and it was some time before the last gla.s.s was emptied. Meanwhile, of course, they talked. The boys acknowledged that, so far, they liked what they had seen of the school. Mention of the doctor and Miss Hillman brought forth warm praise from Polly. ”Every one likes the doctor ever so much,” she declared. ”And Miss Tabitha is-”

”Miss what?” interrupted Laurie.

”Miss Tabitha. That's her name.” Polly laughed softly. ”They call her Tabby,-the boys, I mean,-but they like her. She's a dear, even if she does look sort of-of cranky. She isn't, though, a bit. She makes believe she's awfully stern, but she's just as soft as-as-”

”As Laurie's head?” offered Ned, helpfully. ”Say, you sell 'most everything here, don't you? Are those cream-puffs?”

Ned slipped a hand into his pocket and Laurie coughed furiously. Ned's hand came forth empty. He turned away from temptation. ”They look mighty good,” he said. ”If we'd seen those before we'd had all that ginger-ale-”