“One is always supposed to fall in love with each other’s sisters in May week,” remarked the Babe with a fine disregard of grammar. “But the sisters either die of consumption or else the Dean snaps them up, and so it doesn’t come off. Besides one so seldom does what one is supposed to do.”
“Not often. Byron was supposed to bathe here for instance, and you are supposed to be in by ten to-night, Babe.”
“Napoleon said—” began the Babe.
“Dry up. Why did they gate you?”
“For repeated warnings, I believe. I never asked them to warn me. They go and warn me,” said the Babe, getting a little shrill, “and then they go and gate me for it. I have been allowed no voice whatever in the matter.”
“What did they warn you about?”
“Oh, it was Bill and the bicycle between them, and the time, and the place. Life is a sad business, and mine is a hard lot.”
“You are a bad lot,” suggested Jack.
“Jack, for God’s sake don’t be funny,” said Ealing.
“I thought the Babe wanted a little cheering up. I know he likes being called a bad lot. He isn’t really.”