The young man laughed in spite of himself.
“Snap out of it, Bert!” she commanded, using his first name on purpose. “And have some of this delicious Mexican food. I don’t know its name, but it tastes like week-old hash to me.”
Smiling again, Chase accepted the paper plate she held out to him.
“Just imagine, Bert,” Dot continued, afraid to stop talking lest he become sad again, “that we’re here on a picnic, with the autogiro, and this delicious supper. And you’re lucky enough to be the young man chosen—out of hundreds of admirers of Miss Linda Carlton! Why, you have no idea how many young men in this country would give their best hats to have your chance!”
Linda flushed at this remark.
“Now, Dot,” she protested. “You’re being silly!”
“I am not. I’ll enumerate them, if you like. There’s Ralph Clavering, and Harriman Smith, and—”
“Hush, Dot!” cried her chum, putting her hand over her mouth. “That’s about enough out of you!”
Chase, who by this time was grinning broadly, bowed in acknowledgment.
“All joking aside,” he said, “I realize what an honor it is. And that’s just why I feel so rotten about doing those two mean things to you, Linda.” He was so in earnest that he did not realize that he had used her first name. “Accusing you of forgery the first time I saw you, and then almost killing you. You, who have never done anything wrong in your whole life!”