“‘Your way!’ smirks Stella.
“I was still tryin’ to get up courage to give ’em the razz, when out jumps the other feller and holds open the door in the back for the girls, and in piles Stella and Annie. Dottie puts one foot on the step and gives me the once-over, but by that time I had argued to myself that my feet was too tired for more ploddin’, and I creeps into the front seat. In a minute we was off.”
“What kind of men were they, Queenie?” inquired Marjorie, eyeing the girl narrowly, and wondering whether, in spite of her youth, she were a judge of character.
“College fellers,” returned the other. “Said they were Penn boys—football players, of course. We couldn’t be dead certain of that—every feller wants to be a hero, and he makes it up if he ain’t.”
“Did you get their names?”
“Sure—and we give ’em ours. Sam MacDonald and Charlie Ingersoll. Pretty nifty handles, huh?”
“Oh, you can’t tell by names,” Marjorie replied, mentally making note of them, and resolving to have John look them up in the college catalogue.
“And what did you do?” she pursued.
“Why, just went for a little spin and then they brought us all back to our house. There wasn’t nuthin’ rough about the party—not even any pettin’, for there wasn’t enough fellers to go round, and one of them was drivin’. They didn’t even brag about their hip-pockets, so I guess they’re about as straight as they come. They wouldn’t come inside, and I was just as glad, because my friends usually get in like burglars when Ma’s home, and she don’t know just who their parents are, and what church they go to. But they treated us to a sundae apiece, and let it go at that. Really, there was nuthin’ to it!”
“Do you expect to see them again?” asked Marjorie directly.