“No,” said Wilbur; “I haven't had a chance to make myself known to her.”
“Do you think you can make a favorable impression upon—the daisy?” asked Phil, outwardly sober, but inwardly amused.
“I always had a taking way with girls,” replied Mr. Wilbur complacently.
Phil coughed. It was all that saved him from laughing.
While he was struggling with the inclination, the lady inadvertently dropped a small parcel which she had been carrying in her hand. The two boys were close behind. Like an arrow from the bow Mr. Wilbur sprang forward, picked up the parcel, and while his heart beat wildly, said, as he tendered it to the owner, with a graceful bow and captivating smile:
“Miss, I believe you dropped this.”
“Thank you, my good boy,” answered the daisy pleasantly.
Mr. Wilbur staggered back as if he had been struck. He fell back in discomfiture, and his face showed the mortification and anguish he felt.
“Did you hear what she said?” he asked, in a hollow voice.
“She called you a boy, didn't she?”