“Why, John Morton!” Babbie’s tone was very scornful. “I didn’t think you were that kind. Oh, yes, some Harding girls get flunked out, but none of our crowd would. We’ve got too much pride.”
“That’s all very well to say,” John returned sulkily. “You went to college because you wanted to, I suppose. I went because my father wanted to and couldn’t, so he made me. I got as much fun out of it as I could, and did as little work, and I don’t care what you think about it.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” said Babbie coolly. “You care a lot.” Then she smiled and held out her hand. “Don’t let’s quarrel this morning. If you look so glum the girls will think all I’ve said about your being such a jolly lot is a fairy-tale. I caught a glimpse of you in Glasgow, you know, and I wanted to climb down from the top of a two-story tram to rush back and speak to you. But the tram started just then and I couldn’t.”
John laughed. “Wanting to climb down from the top of a tram to see a fellow is certainly a proof of true friendship. We’ll have our quarrel out some other day.”
“All right,” Babbie agreed, leading the way back to the others. “But you’d better settle your score with Babe and Madeline right away.”
“Settle with Babe and Madeline,” repeated John. “What do you mean?”
“You’re really even,” Babbie pursued, not wanting to embarrass John immediately after their reconciliation, “because if you commented on their stride, they came home and told Betty and me about meeting some Dutchmen.”
“Oh, I say!” John’s face lighted and then he blushed, as he recognized Babe and Madeline. “You were the ones we met on the parade. I’m very sorry. So few people know Dutch, and you were sprinting, you know.”
The girls declared that he was quite excusable, but Babbie warned him that he wouldn’t be safe in using even Bengali when Madeline was around.
“And I shall have to be careful of you,” said Madeline. “Where did you learn so many languages, Mr. Morton?”