"Oh, whatever she told you, I suppose. Two to one I made it stick, anyhow."
Mr. Peter Stearns, who had accompanied Bill home from college, smiled benignly. He was a frail-looking young man, utterly unlike Bill, whose mold was heroic. He was also mild-looking; there was a baffling depth of innocence in his eyes, a placid expression of peace on his lean features. There was even a hint of piety that might pass current among the unwary.
"You filled her up with a lot of bull about me being first in the class and you having religion—you!"
"Didn't she like it?" asked Pete mildly.
"Of course she did, you fool idiot!"
"Then why the roar?"
"Because it's going to make a devil of a mess; that's why. Now we've got to live up to things."
Pete whistled a careless note and shrugged.
"That might be a good stunt, too, Bill."
Bill wheeled away in disgust, then charged back.