“Oh!... I’m a mind reader,” and the sick-calf look that the “heiress” gave him out of the corner of “her” eyes almost turned my stomach. But fatty thought it was sugar and cream.
“Are you going to be here very long?” he inquired eagerly.
“Pos-sibly.”
“Say, can I—I— I mean,” it finally tumbled out, “can I have a date some night soon?”
“I’d love to, if—”
“If what?”
“If your mama will let you.”
“Huh! I don’t have to ask her to go out on a date.”
“No-o?”
“I’m sixteen.”