“Yes, matter. You’ve been different ever since I told you I was going to take Madge to the dance. Now, am I trespassing on your preserves? If I am, say so. But I thought you liked Ruth.”
“So I do!”
“That’s what I thought. I knew you used to go with Madge, but since—— Oh, hang it all, I can’t explain—I’m Ruth’s brother, you know. But if you think I want to cut you out——”
“It’s all right,” broke in Tom with a forced geniality that Phil noticed. “Forget it, old man. Of course, you had a perfect right to go with Madge. I dare say she’d a heap sight rather have you than me.”
“I don’t know about that,” interposed Phil; “but I was afraid I was treading on your corns.”
“It’s all right,” repeated Tom quickly. “Fine dance, wasn’t it?”
“Very. But are you sure——”
“Oh, dry up!” exclaimed Tom, more like himself. “Here’s a letter Ruth gave me to give you. It’s from your mother. Your sister meant to hand it to you at the dance, but she forgot. Came late to-night—or, rather, last night—it’s morning now. She’s a little better, it seems.”
“That’s good!” exclaimed Phil eagerly. “But I wonder why she didn’t write to me.”