She leaned forward eagerly.
"Look here, I do wish you would let me call you 'Dicky.'"
"Oh, I say—will you?" exploded from my mouth.
"Will I?" Her look made my blood leap. "You just watch me—Dicky! Oh, say, this is great; maybe it won't take a fall out of old Jack—always bragging that you allow only two or three to call you that."
"I hope you will always call me Dicky," I said—and said it very softly. By Jove, I could hardly keep from taking her hand!
"You bet I think it's awfully good of you, Lightnut—I mean, Dicky." Then her face grew pensive. "Say, do you know, I need a friend like you—just now, I mean—oh, worst kind."
"Do you?" I said eagerly, and hitched nearer. She proceeded:
"Haven't you had things sometimes you wanted to talk about to somebody—well, things you couldn't just tell to your brother or sisters—oh, nor even your room-mate? You understand."
I wasn't sure that I did, for she was blushing furiously, and in her eyes was an appeal.
By Jove, some jolly love affair, I guessed suddenly. My heart just sank like a lump of what's-its-name, but my whole soul went out in sympathy for her. I made up my mind, then and there, to put myself aside.