“Oh, yes, beautiful—only nothing seems quite right for you but Bobs.”
“All right, say it then. By the way, ‘Miss Willard’ seems perfectly funny to me.”
“Why? Isn’t it a nice name?” she mocked.
“Oh, yes, beautiful—only not quite right for you.”
“What is right for me?”
Bobs hesitated, but he knew what he wanted. “Quis calls you, ‘Jack,’” it came out at last.
“All right, say it, then!”
They were still laughing over this little skirmish when Mademoiselle passed them on the way to one of her French classes.
“Coming to the game, to-morrow, Mademoiselle?” Bobs asked her.
“No, lambkin, I shall not come,” she answered, sweetly. “I dearly love the little boys who play football, but I would so much rather go to see them in the hospital, afterward!”