Again Swift laughed.
“By Jove!” he cried; “you are the same spirited girl as of old! I don’t wonder Merriwell was crazy over you!”
How offensive he was! Yet he seemed to fancy he had said something to please her.
“I have said,” she reminded, “that he was always a gentleman. Those who associated much with him imbibed something of his spirit. You should have known him better, Mr. Swift.”
“Oh, well, let’s let him drop,” he urged. “He is of no particular consequence. I’ve heard he’s working all the time to make himself popular in college.”
“He does not have to work to become popular. He is a natural leader, and men flock round him because they cannot help it. He was captain of the eleven last fall, and Yale did not lose a game. It had the greatest football-team ever put on the gridiron.”
“And, of course, he won all the critical games? Ha, ha, ha!”
“He won the most critical game, the one against Harvard. Everybody has given him credit for that.”
“He must be a high-stepper now!”
“He is as modest as ever.”