“It’s my own fault,” admitted Polly, honestly. “We are all so sudden in our family—make up our minds and hardly wait to write or telegraph. I might have known that Bob would be doing something just as queer as I was. How comfortably you have this place fixed! Am I turning you out of it?” 66 66 “Oh, we’re tramps, Scott and I. We thought it would be pleasanter for you to be here with Mrs. Van Zandt, so we moved ourselves out. We rather like changing about.” He built up the fire and adjusted the percolator, while Polly divested herself of her hat and coat and sat down in a comfortable chair. “It won’t be for long,” she said, decidedly. “I shall go back as soon as I can now that Bob and Emma are home.” “I hope you won’t. Apart from the very great pleasure that it gives us all to see someone from home, it would be a pity to let you go back without seeing some of the country.” Polly laughed in spite of her weariness. “It seems to me as though I’d seen the entire country of Mexico to-day,” she said. “Such a trip!” “Isn’t it, though? The first time I made it I said: ‘Here is where I locate for life and found a colony. I’ll never have the courage to go home.’ But I got over it.” Mrs. Van Zandt bustling in, followed by Scott, their hands full of provisions, found the two chatting sociably. “I’d have had cake for you,” volunteered the former, “if Dolores and her beau hadn’t ate it all on me.” “It’s like a midnight feast at boarding-school,” chuckled the visitor, waked up by the coffee. “It’s like the spreads we used to have when we was on the road,” said Mrs. Van Zandt, meditatively. “On the road?” Polly’s eyes opened wide. “Mrs. Van was one of the original ‘Floradora Sextette,’” 67 remarked Scott, soberly. “The only one who didn’t marry a millionaire.” 67 “A lot you know about it,” retorted the lady. “I was in the ‘Prince of Pilsen,’” she informed Polly, confidentially. “I understudied the ‘Widow’ on the road. It was an interesting life,” she concluded, thoughtfully.
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