“Who else has been bothering you?” demanded Hal, jealously.
“I don’t call it a bother! I supposed it was part of the game. Don’t all girls have nice compliments, and flattery kind of speeches from the young men they know?”
“I don’t know whether they do or not,” growled Hal.
“Well, I know; they do, and they don’t mean a thing; it’s part of the game, you know. Now, I’ll tell you something. I’ve known Philip Van Reypen ever so much longer than I have you, and yet I like you both exactly the same! And Roger just the same,—and Jim just the same!”
“And Martin, the chauffeur, just the same, I suppose; and Mike, the gardener, just the same!”
“Yep,” agreed Patty. “Everybody just the same! I think that’s the way to do in this world, love your neighbour as yourself, and look upon all men as free and equal.”
“Well, I don’t think all girls are equal,—not by a long shot. To my mind they’re divided into two classes.”
“What two?” said Patty, with some curiosity.
“One class is Patty Fairfield, and the other class is everybody else.”
They had reached the bottom of the hill before this, and were sitting on the sled, talking. Patty jumped up and clapped her hands. “That’s about the prettiest speech I ever had made to me! It’s a beautiful speech! I’m going right straight up the hill and tell it to everybody!”