Part 8 (1/2)

And on the way we'll sing this tune,--

Ilga Barron, The great fan_fa_ron,--”

They got no further, for the prisoner, with a dash and a scream, burst her bars, and fled to the next room, followed by a laughing chorus from her tormentors.

Polly was distressed.

”I should think you'd be ashamed,” she declared, ”to treat a girl in that way!”

The boys grinned.

”She deserves it!” spoke up Floyd Bascom.

”Yes, look at her last night!” cried Prescott Saunders. ”Never said a word, and let you bear all the blame!”

”An' see the way she's been actin' to you all along!” put in Peter Anderson.

”I know,” returned Polly sadly; ”but it isn't fair to sing that to her.”

”Why not? Why do you care?” It was Vance Alden that questioned. The rest were still, awaiting Polly's answer.

”I'm sorry for her. I know how things hurt.”

But the boys only laughed, and began again the taunting song. They were resolved to have their fun.

”It is kind of mean, isn't it?” commented Patricia, as she and Polly and Leonora walked back into the schoolroom.

”I wish they wouldn't,” scowled Polly, glancing across to Ilga's desk, where she was in excited conversation with three or four girls.

”What does fanfaron mean?” questioned Leonora.

”I don't know,” answered Polly. ”Let's find out!”

Patricia was first at the dictionary, and turned quickly to the word.

”It means, 'A bully; a hector; a swaggerer; an empty boaster,'”

reading from the page.

Polly looked over.

”Fan”--she began, ”why, they haven't got it right! It isn't fan_fa_ron at all, the accent is right on the first syllable, and _fan_faron doesn't rhyme a bit! Oh, just you wait!” and she walked quietly away.

Patricia and Leonora followed at a little distance.

Polly went straight to the author of the ditty. There was no distress in her face now. Her eyes were twinkling.

”If I could write as good poetry as you do,” she dimpled, ”and I wanted to use uncommon words, I think I'd make sure that the accent was right, and that they rhymed.”

”Wha' do you mean?” he frowned.