"Gently, gently!" exclaimed Hippy, raising his hand in expostulation. "I was about to say that you, Nora, are a splendid fighter"—he paused significantly—"for the right. What can be more noble than to fight for the right? Now, aren't you sorry you repudiated me? If you will say so immediately I will overlook the other remark. But you must be quick. Time and I won't wait a minute. Remember, I'm going away to-morrow."
"Good-bye," retorted Nora indifferently. "I'll see you again some day."
"'Forsaken, forsaken, forsaken am I,'" wailed Hippy, hopelessly out of tune.
"Now, see what you've done," commented David Nesbit disgustedly.
"I'm truly sorry," apologized Nora. "Hippy, if you will stop singing, I'll forgive you and allow you to sit beside me." She patted the davenport invitingly.
"I thought you would," grinned Hippy, seating himself triumphantly beside her. "I always gain my point by singing that song. It appeals to people. It is so pathetic. They would give worlds to—"
"Have you stop it," supplemented Tom Gray.
"Yes," declared Hippy. "No, I don't mean 'yes' at all. Tom Gray is an unfeeling monster. I refuse to say another word. I have subsided. Now, may I have some more tea?"
Anne filled the stout young man's cup and handed it to him with a smile. "What are you going to be when you grow up, Hippy?" she asked mischievously.
"A brakeman," replied Hippy promptly. "I always did like to ride on trains. That's why I am spending four years in college."