"I have tried to talk to you, Tom, but you wouldn't listen—"
"Yes, I know, I know! It's my own fault—I'll—I'll turn up jolly in a little while—it's only the f-first that's hard!"
And Tom blew and whistled in his efforts to keep his composure, in a way that was irresistibly ludicrous. In the midst of his distress the poor fellow could not help being comical. Even in the suffering which was so terribly real to him he made Elizabeth smile.
"I'm a great fool!" he exclaimed. "Just pitch in and abuse me like smoke, Bessie, I think it would do me good."
"Only wait till to-morrow," she said, "I will talk with you then—we shall be overheard now."
"Oh, I can't help it if the whole world hears," he groaned; "I can't wait! The way she's going on with those dashing young fellows drives me mad! Why couldn't I have been a dashing fellow too, instead of such a great live-oak hulk! I can't stir without stumbling over somebody, and as for saying those dainty things that they are pouring into her ears, and be hanged to 'em—I can't do it. No wonder she scorns me!"
Tom dealt his unfortunate forehead a blow that made it scarlet for several moments, and quieted him down somewhat.
"What would you advise me to do, Bessie?" he asked. "You're so sensible and so good—just give a fellow a hint."
"Dear Tom, there is nothing for it but to wait—"
"That's pretty advice!" he burst in. "You might as well tell a person in a blaze of fire to wait! No, I shan't wait—I shan't, I say!"