He took back the rubber disk with decision.
Irving had turned around during this interchange and looked down from his high perch.
“Hello, Nixie,” he said.
Robert leaned forward with alacrity, and took the down-stretched hand.
“Et tu, Brute?” he cried, his voice breaking joyously.
Betsy stole the first glance at her companion. His unfeigned gladness to see her idol was in his favor.
He turned to his mother: “Bruce of our class. Didn’t you recognize him? Best fullback the college ever saw.”
“I did think there was something familiar about that young man’s face,” responded Mrs. Nixon. “Most attractive; and such charming manners.” Her carefully modulated voice fell agreeably on Miss Foster’s ears. “He tried to give us the front seat; but the lady with him,” Mrs. Nixon raised her eyebrows, “was so very anxious to secure it, that I was glad your uncle refused.”
Mrs. Bruce turned and looked down to see Irving’s friend, and exclaimed at once, beaming with interest:—
“I remember you perfectly, Mr. Nixon. You were so funny on Class Day.” As Mrs. Bruce spoke, her eyes roved again to the young man’s party.