An Old-fashioned Girl by Louisa M. Alcott

trying to comfort her, while her own thoughts were full of a vague

fear. All at once the dining-room door opened, and Tom’s head

appeared. A single glance showed Polly that something was the

matter, for the care and elegance which usually marked his

appearance were entirely wanting. His tie was under one ear, his

hair in a toss, the cherished moustache had a neglected air, and his

face an expression both excited, ashamed, and distressed; even his

voice betrayed disturbance, for instead of the affable greeting he

usually bestowed upon the young lady, he seemed to have fallen

back into the bluff tone of his boyish days, and all he said was,

“Hullo, Polly.”

“How do you do?” answered Polly.

“I ‘m in a devil of a mess, thank you; send that chicken up stairs,

and come in and hear about it.” he said, as if he had been longing

to tell some one, and welcomed prudent Polly as a special

providence.

“Go up, deary, and amuse yourself with this book, and these ginger

snaps that I made for you, there ‘s a good child,” whispered Polly,

as Maud rubbed away her tears, and stared at Tom with round,

inquisitive eyes.

“You ‘ll tell me all about it, by and by, won’t you?” she whispered,

preparing to obey.

“If I may,” answered Polly.

Maud departed with unexpected docility, and Polly went into the

dining-room, where Tom was wandering about in a restless way. If

he had been “raging like a bear,” Polly would n’t have cared, she

was so pleased that he wanted her, and so glad to be a confidante,

as she used to be in the happy old days, that she would joyfully

have faced a much more formidable person than reckless Tom.

“Now, then, what is it?” she said, coming straight to the point.

“Guess.”

“You ‘ve killed your horse racing.”

“Worse than that.”

“You are suspended again.”

“Worse than that.”

“Trix has run away with somebody,” cried Polly, with a gasp.

“Worse still.”

“Oh, Tom, you have n’t horse whipped or shot any one?”

“Came pretty near blowing my own brains out but you see I did

n’t.”

“I can’t guess; tell me, quick.”

“Well, I ‘m expelled.”

Tom paused on the rug as he gave the answer, and looked at Polly

to see how she took it. To his surprise she seemed almost relieved,

and after a minute silence, said, soberly, “That ‘s bad, very bad;

but it might have been worse.”

“It is worse;” and Tom walked away again with a despairing sort of

groan.

“Don’t knock the chairs about, but come and sit down, and tell me

quietly.”

“Can’t do it.”

“Well, go on, then. Are you truly expelled? Can’t it be made up?

What did you do?”

“It ‘s a true bill this time. I just had a row with the Chapel

watchman, and knocked him down. If it was a first offence, I

might have got off; but you see I ‘ve had no end of narrow escapes,

and this was my last chance; I ‘ve lost it, and now there ‘ll be the

dickens to pay. I knew it was all up with me, so I did n’t wait to be

turned out, but just took myself off.”

“What will your father say?”

“It will come hard on the governor, but the worst of it is ” there

Tom stopped, and stood a minute in the middle of the room with

his head down, as if he did n’t find it easy to tell even kind little

Polly. Then out came the truth all in a breath, just as he used to

bolt out his boyish misdemeanors, and then back up against the

wall ready to take the consequences.

“I owe an awful lot of money that the governor don’t know about.”

“Oh, Tom, how could you?”

“I ‘ve been an extravagant rascal, I know it, and I ‘m thundering

sorry, but that don’t help a fellow, I ‘ve got to tell the dear old

buffer, and there ‘s where it cuts.”

At another time Polly would have laughed at the contrast between

Tom’s face and his language, but there was a sincere remorse,

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