"I won't!" laughed her lover, "I want my back against a tree, too."
"Miss Beaumont," asked Ford, "where shall I sit?" He was standing at attention, like a soldier.
"Oh, look at all these Worters!" she cried, "and one little Ford in the middle of them!" For she was at that state of civilization which appreciates a pun.
"Shall I stand, Miss Beaumont? Shall I hide the house from you if I stand?"
"Sit down, Jack, you baby!" cried his guardian, breaking in with needless asperity. "Sit down!"
"He may just as well stand if he will," said she. "Just pull back your soft hat, Mr. Ford. Like a halo. Now you hide even the smoke from the chimneys. And it makes you look beautiful."
"Evelyn! Evelyn! You are too hard on the boy. You'll tire him. He's one of those bookworms. He's not strong. Let him sit down."
"Aren't you strong?" she asked.
"I am strong!" he cried. It is quite true. Ford has no right to be strong, but he is. He never did his dumb-bells or played in his school fifteen. But the muscles came. He thinks they came while he was reading Pindar.
"Then you may just as well stand, if you will."