“Well, down to the Morgan place. They don’t want you sneaking around anywhere near them.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” observed Tom.
“I overheard their talk. They’ve gone to get some tar and feathers. They’re going to muss you up bad. I know them pretty well.”
“I see you do,” remarked Tom, significantly.
“Oh, I don’t mean that I chum with them, or anything like that,” corrected Mart, in a flustered manner. “But, I have—why, well—influence, that’s it, with them. Then again, I’m interested personally.”
“How are you interested?” inquired Tom.
“Well, I’ll just be plain with you. My friend, Bert Aldrich, is sweet on Grace Morgan, and you’ve spoiled it.”
“Indeed,” said Tom simply.
“He thinks you have prejudiced Grace against him, and he’s mad as a hatter about it. See here, she isn’t your class. You know she ain’t—half a million, classy family. Why, you’re poor. Then again, she’s going south soon, and when she gets into society she’ll have to meet Bert and his family, and take up with him again—see?”
“Get along, Mart,” railed Tom, “you’re progressing finely.”