Very sincerely but very firmly yours,
Allen Blynn.
On Saturday afternoon she was waiting for him on the old-fashioned settle before the door of her home.
“Hello, missy!” he called to her from the gate. “When do you graduate?”
“S-sh!” she whispered, and nodded toward the house.
As he drew near he gave a mock whisper in return, “I’ve figured it out that they must have promoted you a class every two days and a half. So you’re to graduate immediately. Tell me about it.”
“We’ve got to walk,” she spoke low.
“Whither, fellow conspirator.”
“To the tennis-courts.”
“Ah!” he mimicked an actor, “’twas there we met.”
“This is no joke,” she declined to catch his spirit. “I’m going to quit.”