“Never mind,” said the jolly little pal. “You needn’t tell me. There are some things we keep locked up, forever and ever, in the inner sanctums of our hearts, aren’t there?” Sadly. “And we die and they are buried with us. Oh, dear! I’m beginning to feel dreadful. Only jolly little pal is awfully sorry.” For him, she meant. Bob winced. “I hate to think of you sitting there, poor dear, all alone, and—and—”
“I’m having a bully time—honest,” said Bob. “I really am. I’m planning out my future. I’m going to do something. I’m tired of being nothing. I’ll work right with the workmen at first.”
“And you will be all perspirey and covered with soot?” In horror.
“I’ll be worse than that. I’ll be sweaty and covered with soot,” said Bob practically.
Dolly groaned. “It seems to me as if everything is upside down.”
“No. Downside down. ‘Life is real; life is earnest,’” he quoted, laughing.
“Oh, dear! That solemn sound! I can tell you are terribly determined.” He did not answer. “Well, good-by, great, big, perspirey—I mean sweaty, sooty old pal!”
“Good-by, Dolly. And thank you for calling me up. It did me good to hear little pal’s voice. Wish me luck.”
“I’ll send you a horseshoe to-morrow,” she laughed. And then suddenly, as an afterthought— “By the way, I have a ’fession to make.”
“All right. ’Fess ahead.”