“I did smoke an occasional cigarette,” he said lightly, “up to the day, not a thousand years ago, when a very emphatic young lady who should have known, insinuated that it was bad for the nerves, and going on the presumption that she knew, I haven’t smoked a cigarette since and I’m not going to until I find out whether I can do better work without them.”
Linda folded napkins and packed away accessories thoughtfully. Then she looked into the boy’s eyes.
“Now we reach the point of our being here together,” she said. “It’s time to fight, and I am sorry we didn’t go at it gas and bomb the minute we met. You’re so different from what I thought you were. If anyone had told me a week ago that you would take off your coat and mess with my automobile engine, or wear Katy’s apron and squeeze lemons in our kitchen I would have looked him over for Daddy’s high sign of hysteria, at least. It’s too bad to I have such a good time as I have had this afternoon, and then end with a fight.”
“That’s nothing,” said Donald. “You couldn’t have had as good a time as I have had. You’re like another boy. A fellow can be just a fellow with you, and somehow you make everything you touch mean something it never meant before. You have made me feel that I would be about twice the man I am if I had spent the time I have wasted in plain jazzing around, hunting Cotyledon or trap-door spiders’ nests.”
“I get you,” said Linda. “It’s the difference between a girl reared in an atmosphere of georgette and rouge, and one who has grown up in the canyons with the oaks and sycamores. One is natural and the other is artificial. Most boys prefer the artificial.”
“I thought I did myself,” said Donald, “but to-day has taught me that I don’t. I think, Linda, that you would make the finest friend a fellow ever had. I firmly and finally decline to fight with you; but for God’s sake, Linda, tell me how I can beat that little cocoanut-headed Jap.”
Linda slammed down the lid to the lunch box. Her voice was smooth and even but there was battle in her eyes and she answered decisively: “Well, you can’t beat him calling him names. There is only one way on God’s footstool that you can beat him. You can’t beat him legislating against him. You can’t beat him boycotting him. You can’t beat him with any tricks. He is as sly as a cat and he has got a whole bag full of tricks of his own, and he has proved right here in Los Angeles that he has got a brain that is hard to beat. All you can do, and be a man commendable to your own soul, is to take his subject and put your brain on it to such purpose that you cut pigeon wings around him. What are you studying in your classes, anyway?”
“Trigonometry, Rhetoric, Ancient History, Astronomy,” answered Donald.
“And is your course the same as his?” inquired Linda.
“Strangely enough it is,” answered Donald. “We have been in the same classes all through high school. I think the little monkey——”