Basketball stories; College students -- Juvenile fiction; Women college students -- Juvenile fiction; Young women -- Juvenile fiction
Uncle Todd was evidently well pleased with his story of the Welch
auction, for the palpitating cane was throbbing up and down in his
sinewy hand, and Aunt Mary had completely laid aside her knitting, and
sat with hands folded at attention.
“I would call it a shame,” she commented as Jane entered.
“And you’d give it the right name,” replied Uncle Todd.
At the threshold Jane hesitated. Even to her youthful eyes there was
something restful in the picture.
“Good old pals,” she said under her breath. “Aunt Mary knows how to
entertain reclining years.” Then picking up Bonnie, her ebony kitten,
she coughed respectfully.
“Good news?” asked Aunt Mary.
“The best ever. Where is dad? I hate to give it to him second handed.”
“Your father will not be back till dinner time, dear. He is over
Lincoln way.”
“Then we will have to enjoy it in trio. You know what it is about,
Uncle Todd?”
“But, Janie girl, I’ve got to be a-goin’. Some chores and some cookin’
to do, and if I don’t get at it in good time I’m apt to slip it by.
Good afternoon, ladies,” he finished quite grandly. “Can’t tell when I
had sech a fine time.”
“But you can’t go now, Uncle Todd,” objected Jane. “I am going to drive
you over.”
“No sich thing. If I don’t keep a-walkin’ my jints will gum up: I am
goin’ to walk.”
“Oh, if you must,” said Jane with the foolish social intonation. “So
awfully sorry.”
“Don’t you jibe me, girlie,” and he pinched her elbow. “You know as
well as I do what it is worth to walk a mile a day.”
“All right, Uncle Todd, but some day I am going to tell you all my good
news. There comes Pedro. If you get tired just hail him, and he’ll give
you a lift.”
Then, left alone with her aunt, Jane proceeded with the news from
Wellington.
“Just see and listen,” she commanded. “What a prospect of oodles of fun
and frolic. Dad’s scholarship has been won by a Polish artist. Think of
it! A girl who plays the violin divinely, and who is—well, let’s read
it again.”
She ran her finger over the introduction of the letter and traced out
the lines which told of the Polish girl and the scholarship.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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