An Old-fashioned Girl by Louisa M. Alcott

smash-up was sent to introduce me to my own father.”

“There ‘s philosophy for you,” said Polly, smiling, even while she

felt as if adversity was going to do more for Tom than years of

prosperity.

They both sat quiet for a minute, Polly in the big chair looking at

him with a new respect in her eyes, Tom on the stool near by

slowly tearing up a folded paper he had absently taken from the

floor while he talked.

“Did this surprise you?” he asked, as a little white shower fluttered

from his hands.

“No.”

“Well, it did me; for you know as soon as we came to grief I

offered to release Trix from the engagement, and she would n’t let

me,” continued Tom, as if, having begun the subject, he wished to

explain it thoroughly.

“That surprised me,” said Polly.

“So it did me, for Fan always insisted it was the money and not the

man she cared for. Her first answer pleased me very much, for I

did not expect it, and nothing touches a fellow more than to have a

woman stand by him through thick and thin.”

“She don’t seem to have done it.”

“Fan was right. Trix only waited to see how bad things really were,

or rather her mother did. She ‘s as cool, hard, and worldly minded

an old soul as I ever saw, and Trix is bound to obey. She gets

round it very neatly in her note, ‘I won’t be a burden,’ ‘will sacrifice

her hopes,’ ‘and always remain my warm friend,’ but the truth is,

Tom Shaw rich was worth making much of, but Tom Shaw poor is

in the way, and may go to the devil as fast as he likes.”

“Well, he is n’t going!” cried Polly, defiantly, for her wrath burned

hotly against Trix, though she blessed her for setting the bondman

free.

“Came within an ace of it,” muttered Tom to himself; adding

aloud, in a tone of calm resignation that assured Polly his heart

would not be broken though his engagement was, “It never rains

but it pours, ‘specially in hard times, but when a man is down, a

rap or two more don’t matter much, I suppose. It ‘s the first blow

that hurts most.”

“Glad to see you take the last blow so well.” There was an ironical

little twang to that speech, and Polly could n’t help it. Tom colored

up and looked hurt for a minute, then seemed to right himself with

a shrug, and said, in his outspoken way, “To tell the honest truth,

Polly, it was not a very hard one. I ‘ve had a feeling for some time

that Trix and I were not suited to one another, and it might be

wiser to stop short. But she did not or would not see it; and I was

not going to back out, and leave her to wear any more willows, so

here we are. I don’t bear malice, but hope she ‘ll do better, and not

be disappointed again, upon my word I do.”

“That ‘s very good of you, quite Sydneyesque, and noble,” said

Polly, feeling rather ill at ease, and wishing she could hide herself

behind a cap and spectacles, if she was to play Grandma to this

confiding youth.

“It will be all plain sailing for Syd, I fancy,” observed Tom, getting

up as if the little cricket suddenly ceased to be comfortable.

“I hope so,” murmured Polly, wondering what was coming next.

“He deserves the very best of everything, and I pray the Lord he

may get it,” added Tom, poking the fire in a destructive manner.

Polly made no answer, fearing to pay too much, for she knew Fan

had made no confidant of Tom, and she guarded her friend’s secret

as jealously as her own. “You ‘ll write to Ned to-morrow, will

you? I ‘ll take anything he ‘s got, for I want to be off,” said Tom,

casting down the poker, and turning round with a resolute air

which was lost on Polly, who sat twirling the rose that had fallen

into her lap.

“I ‘ll write to-night. Would you like me to tell the girls about Trix

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