Creative Books

Polly was much disturbed; but as everyone else was flying about
also, she bore it as long as she could, knowing that Tom had made
a martyr of himself, and feeling grateful to him for the sacrifice.
"Oh, do stop now; this is dreadful!" cried Polly, breathlessly, after
a few wild turns.
"Is n't it?" said Tom, wiping his red face with such an air of intense
relief, that Polly had not the heart to scold him, but said, "Thank
you," and dropped into a chair exhausted.
"I know I 've made a guy of myself; but Fan insisted on it, for fear
you 'd be offended if I did n't go the first dance with you," said
Tom, remorsefully, watching Polly as she settled the bow of her
crushed sash, which Tom had used as a sort of handle by which to
turn and twist her; "I can do the Lancers tip-top; but you won't ever
want to dance with me any more," he added, as he began to fan her
so violently, that her hair flew about as if in a gale of wind.
"Yes, I will. I 'd like to; and you shall put your name down here on
the sticks of my fan.


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