A little smile stole over Manilla's rosy lips.
"I know what it is," she said gently, unreproachfully; "it's that girl, Carolyn June. Yes, it is," as Skinny started to interrupt. "Oh, I don't blame you for falling for her!" she went on. "She is nice—but, well, Skinny-boy," her voice was a caress, "Old Heck's niece is not the sort for you. You and her wouldn't fit at all—the way you wanted—and anyhow, there—there—are others," coloring warmly.
Skinny looked up into the honest blue eyes.
"You ain't sore at me or anything are you, Manilla?" he asked.
"Sore?" she answered. "Of course not!"
Hope sprung again into his heart. "I—I—thought maybe you would be," he stammered.
"Forget it!" she laughed. "The old world still wobbles!"
"Manilla, you—you're a peach!" he cried.
She chuckled. "Did you hear about that dance next Saturday night after the picture show?" she asked archly.
"No. Is there one?" with new interest in life.