"May I speak to one of the twins?"
The nearest twin was summoned, and then he asked:
"Have you twins got dates for the ball game?"—or the party, or the concert.
And the twin at the telephone would say, "Yes, we both have—hard luck, Jim." Or, "I have, but Carol hasn't." Sometimes it was, "No, we haven't, but we're just crazy to go." And in reply to the first Jim always answered, "That's a shame,—why didn't you remember me and hold off?" And to the second, "Well, ask her if I can come around for her." And to the third, "Good, let's all go together and have a celebration."
For this broad-minded devotion the twins gave him a deep-seated gratitude and affection and he always stood high in their favor.
On this occasion Carol had answered the telephone, and in reply to his query she answered crossly, "Oh, Jim, you stupid thing, why didn't you phone yesterday? I would so much rather go with you than—But never mind. I have a date, but Lark hasn't. And you just called in time, too, for Harvey Lane told Hartley he was going to ask for a date."
And Jim had called back excitedly, "Bring her to the phone, quick; don't waste a minute." And Lark was called, and the date was duly scheduled.
"Are you scared, Lark?" he asked her as they walked slowly down the street toward the church.
"I'm not scared, Jim," she answered solemnly, "but I'm perfectly cavernous, if you know what that means."
"I sure do know," he said fervently, "didn't I have to do a speech at the commencement exercises? There never was a completer cavern than I was that night. But I can't figure out why folks agree to do such things when they don't have to. I had to. It was compulsory."