“I will,” said Polly, laughing.  “Come, Papa Fisher,” holding out her hand, “do give me the honor.”

“All right,” said Dr. Fisher bravely.  So Jasper took the deserted post by the pillar, and whistled a Strauss waltz.  Thereupon a most extraordinary hopping up and down the hall was commenced, the two figures bobbing like a pair of corks on a quivering water-surface.

The doors opened, and several faces appeared, amongst the number Mrs. Fisher’s.

“I couldn’t help it,” said the little doctor, coming up red and animated, and wiping his forehead.  His spectacles had fallen off long since, and he had let them go.  “It looked so nice to see Jasper and Polly, I thought I’d try it.  I didn’t suppose I’d get on so well; I really believe I can dance.”

“Humph!” laughed Mr. King, “it looks like it.  Just see Polly.”

“Oh, Papa Fisher!” cried Polly with a merry peal in which Jasper, unpuckering his lips from the Strauss effort, had joined, “we must have looked”—­Here she went off again.

“Yes,” said Jasper, “you did.  That’s just it, Polly, you did.  Lucky you two caperers didn’t break anything.”

“Well, if you’ve got through laughing,” observed Dr. Fisher, “I’ll remark that the secret is out.”

“Do you like it, Polly?” asked Mr. King, holding out his hand.  “Say, my girl?” And then before she could answer, he went on, “You see, we can’t do anything without a doctor on our travels.  Now Providence has given us one, though rather an obstinate specimen,” he pointed to Father Fisher.  “And he wants to see the hospitals, and you want to study a bit of music, and your mother wants rest, and Jasper and Phronsie and I want fun, so we’re going, that’s all.”

“When?” demanded Polly breathlessly.

“In a month.”

XXI

THE WHITNEYS’ LITTLE PLAN

I think it’s a mean shame,” cried Joel, on a high vindictive key.  “You’ve had burglars here twice, and I haven’t been home.”

“You speak as if we appointed the meeting, Joe,” said Ben with a laugh.

“Well, it’s mean, anyway,” cried Joel, with a flash of his black eyes.  “Now there won’t any come again in an age.”

“Goodness, I hope not,” ejaculated Mr. King, lowering his newspaper to peer over its top.

“I’d have floored him,” declared Joel, striking out splendidly from the shoulder, “if I’d only have been here.”

“All very well,” said Percy negligently, “but you weren’t here,” and he laughed softly.

“Do you mean to say that I couldn’t have handled the burglar?” demanded Joel belligerently, and advancing on Percy, “say?  Because if you do, why, I’ll try a bout with you.”

“I didn’t say anything what you could or couldn’t do.  I said you weren’t here, and you weren’t.  That’s enough,” and Percy turned his back on him, thrust his hands in the pockets of his morning jacket and stalked to the window.