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"P-push the third button, sir! Quick!" cried the maid, wringing her hands. "W-where is it!" stammered the young man, groping nervously in the dark car. "I can't see any." "Cr-rack!" went something. "It's stopped! It's going to fall!" screamed the maid. "Run, Ferdinand!" The man at the door ran upstairs for a few steps, then distractedly slid to the bottom, shouting: "Are you hurt, sir?"
Duane ignored the appeal. "Playing with three boys isn't anything," he said. "I play with forty every day." "W-where?" asked Scott, overwhelmed. "In school, of course at recess and before nine, and after one. We have fine times. School's all right. Don't you even go to school?" Scott shook his head, too ashamed to speak.
He shouted to his companions as if they were two blocks away. "There she is! Hooray!" They bore down upon her. The next instant they were solemnly shaking hands with her, much to her dismay. "Cons'ance, we've been lookin' f-fer you ever'-where in town. W-where on earth 've you been?" asked Mr. Rodney thickly, with a laudable attempt at severity.
And an abashed Carl realized that a maid had opened the door of the house at which he himself had rung, and was glaring at him as he craned over to view the next-door stoop. "W-where Does Dr. Brown live here?" he stuttered. "No, 'e don't," the maid snapped, closing the door. Carl groaned: "He don't? Dear old Brown? Not live here? Huh? What shall I do?"
"Well, by Jove!" breathed Jimmy, then, in a voice that shook a little, "That was tough on him!" "And I didn't think, and PRAISED you, right before him," half-sobbed Pollyanna. "And his hands did you see them? They were BLEEDING where the nails had cut right into the flesh," she finished, as she turned and stumbled blindly up the path. "But, Pollyanna, w-where are you going?" cried Jimmy.
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