“Maybe I can get a job as crossing watchman when that time comes,” laughed Allan. “I ought to be good for a few years yet, anyway.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me a bit t’ be follerin’ yer coffin a week from now,” declared Mary, darkly; but, just the same, it would have surprised her very much.
Allan laughed again, as he took up his lunch-basket and started across the yards. He was a little early, but he wanted to spend an extra five or ten minutes going over the train-orders, to make sure that he understood them thoroughly. As he approached the station, he saw two carriages drive up. A number of young men and women got out of them—they had evidently been packed in pretty tight—and gathered in a voluble group on the platform, evidently waiting for the east-bound flyer, which was almost due.
Allan, passing quite near, suddenly found himself looking into the blue eyes of Betty Heywood. Instinctively he raised his hat.
“Why, how do you do,” she said, and held out her hand in the old, friendly manner. “I hear you’ve been distinguishing yourself again.”
“Just blundering into trouble,” he answered, smiling. “Some people are always doing that, you know.”
“Well, that’s better than running away from it—some people do that, too.”
“Oh, yes,” he agreed, and then stopped. He found it strangely difficult to talk to her with all these friends about her. If they were only alone together—
“I’m going away to school,” she went on, seemingly not noticing his shyness.