"Well," he said, rising, "it's quite a walk back to the trolley.
Perhaps I'd better be going."
Lydia rose with alacrity. "I'm—I'm glad you like the mahogany," she said awkwardly.
"Er—yes. So am I," returned Willis, making for the door as Amos groaned again. "Good night, Miss Dudley."
"Good night," said Lydia, and closing the door with a gasp of relief she dashed for the dining-room.
"Just when I'm trying to be refined and lady-like!" she wailed. Then she stopped.
"Lydia," roared Amos, "if you ever touch my chair again! Look at my shirt and pants!"
Lydia looked and from these to the chair, denuded of the two coats of varnish. "But you knew it wasn't dry," she protested.
"How could I remember?" cried Amos. "I just sat down a minute to put on my slippers you'd hid."
"I don't see why you couldn't have been quiet about it," Lydia half sobbed. "We were having such a nice time and all of a sudden it sounded like an Irish wake out here. It embarrassed Professor Willis so he went right home and I know he'll never come back."
"I should hope he wouldn't," retorted Amos. "Of course, what a college professor thinks is more important than my comfort. Why, that varnish went through my shirt to my skin. Liz, what are you laughing at?"