They parted at his front steps. John plodded thoughtfully homeward, for his brain buzzed with a new and daring possibility. Would Louise overlook the morning's fiasco and allow him to take her? He broached the matter of finances to Mrs. Fletcher.
"But what do you want two dimes for? Tell Mother."
No, he wouldn't. But he had to have the two coins. Mrs. Fletcher studied him curiously.
"Is there some little girl you want to take?"
An evasive silence followed her question. Nevertheless his brown eyes pleaded his cause so eloquently that one o'clock found him sitting on the front porch, jingling the money merrily in one hand.
The day was crisp and sunny, with an invigorating breeze from the lake, which set the blood pulsing in his veins. Ordinarily, he would have scampered off to play with Bill and Perry Alford or Sid on the way to school, but not this time. He was waiting for some one.
Shortly a dainty, pink pinafored figure with the familiar curly ringlets skipped past on the opposite side of the street. When she had gone perhaps fifty yards, John walked down the steps and followed not too rapidly. He must catch up quite as if by accident, for it would never do to have the meeting occur seemingly of his own volition.
She saw him coming and halted at the corner drug store to gaze demurely at a window display of gaily tinned talcum powder. As the boy came up to her, a queer, choking sensation filled his throat.
"'Lo," he gulped nervously. Not a sign of recognition. Evidently "Rose is red" still rankled.
"'Lo," he persevered. She raised her chin ever so slightly. "Those kids won't throw any more cucumbers. I fixed 'em." Perhaps the memory of his protection that Saturday would pave the way to peace.