"Huyler's?" demanded Miss Saucy.
"Huyler's."
"Get Dulce to hand you over Mr. Day. She bores the poor boy to death. I know he'd be glad of almost any change," said Miss Flirt.
"Or she might try a 'candied date,'" suggested Miss Saucy with a sideway gesture.
In the small babel of words and laughter that followed this, the girls drifted away out of hearing, and the sweet summer air was silent again. The leaves clapped hands softly, the folds of the beautiful flag curled and played as before over the head of the young candidate. But in the heart of Magnus himself, just now, the summer grace and peace found no foothold. Rather, his thoughts were like a November gale, with the air full of dust and rubbish.
What if he was a candidate? Men had to be, when they first came, he supposed. And what if he did mean to hold up the flagstaff? who had a better right? Magnus looked up defiantly, and made a profound reverence to the Stars and Stripes. All the same, he edged away as he saw another party of girls approaching, and went and sat down on a long iron seat among the tree shadows. One thing was certain: his sisters—and Cherry—should never set foot here, if he could help it. He had been thinking—if only they could get money enough—how fine it would be to have them all come and see this beautiful place. Such walks as they could take! But West Point just swarmed with girls already. And at this point of his meditations Magnus was quite sure that he heard "candidate" again, from another jocund voice.
"Say, let's find out."
"What for?" said a pink vision.
"Fun," said the white one: "Oh, I know the regulation questions." And but half under her breath, the pretty tones sang out:
"See where he hails from—
What is his name;
Who was his 'pred.,'
And why he came."