Fred murmured to himself, “'What did you say to her?' 'Nothin'. I started to, but'—” Then he put on a burst of speed and passed them, sweeping off his hat with operatic deference, yet hurrying by as if fearful of being thought a killjoy if he lingered. He went to the “frat house,” found no one downstairs, and established himself in a red leather chair to smoke and ruminate merrily by a great fire in the hall.
Half an hour later Ramsey entered, stamped off the snow, hung up his hat and coat, and sat himself down defiantly in the red leather chair on the other side of the fireplace.
“Well, go on,” he said. “Commence!”
“Not at all!” Fred returned, amiably. “Fine spring weather to-day. Lovely to see all the flowers and the birds as we go a-strolling by. The little bobolinks—”
“You look here! That's the only walk I ever took with her in my life. I mean by—by asking her and her saying she would and so forth. That other time just sort of happened, and you know it. Well, the weather wasn't just the best in the world, maybe, but she's an awful conscientious girl and once she makes an engagement—”
“Why, of course,” Fred finished for him, “She'd be too pious to break it just on account of a mere little blizzard or anything. Wonder how the weather will be next Sunday?”
“I don't know and I don't care,” said Ramsey. “You don't suppose I asked her to go again, do you?”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, you don't suppose I want her to think I'm a perfect fool, do you?”
Fred mused a moment or two, looking at the fire. “What was the lecture?” he asked, mildly.