John was silent.
"Johnnie and Cray are disgusted with his rubbish," continued Barbara, "pretending to make love and all that."
"Yes," said John; "it is very ridiculous. Boys like Conyngham and Crayshaw ought to know better." Nothing, he felt, could be so likely to make the schoolroom distasteful to his daughters as this early admiration. Still he was consoled by the view they took of it.
"Cray does know better, of course," said Gladys carelessly.
"Still, he was extremely angry with Conyngham, for being so fond of Gladys," remarked Barbara; "because you know she is his friend. He would never hear about his puppy, that old Patience Smith takes care of for sixpence a week, or his rabbits that we have here, or his hawk that lives at Wigfield, unless Gladys wrote; Mr. Brandon never writes to him."
"Now shall I put a stop to this, or shall I let it be?" thought John; and he proceeded to read Crayshaw's effusion.
TO G.M. IN HER BRONZE BOOTS
As in the novel skippers say,
"Shiver my timbers!" and "Belay!"
While a few dukes so handy there
Respectfully make love or swear;
As in the poem some great ass
For ever pipes to his dear lass;
And as in life tea crowns the cup
And muffins sop much butter up;
So, naturally, while I walk
With you, I feel a swell—and stalk—
Consecutively muttering "Oh,
I'm quite a man, I feel I grow."