Joe started, stared, and gulped, then turned to Jim to make sure he was awake, and not a victim of some bad dream. But Jim had suddenly acquired a peculiar form of hysteria, and with a choking sound turned his back upon his friend.
“N-no,” stuttered Joe, gently pushing the girl away, “no want.”
Another explosion from Jim did not serve to improve Joe’s state of mind. His face was fiery red, and his voice husky.
“Me slave!” persisted the girl stubbornly.
Then Joe turned and fled, manfully fighting a desire to shout with laughter one moment, and groan with dismay the next. 197
Two very much subdued baseball players crept in at the side door of the hotel, and scurried along the corridor toward their rooms, hoping ardently to meet no one on the way. It was with a sigh of relief that they slipped inside, locked the door, and repaired the ravages that the waters of the Yarra Yarra had made upon their clothing.
A few moments later, with self respect considerably improved, they sauntered down to the writing room, where they found the two girls looking more distractingly pretty than ever, engaged in folding the last of their letters.
“Oh, back so soon?” queried Mabel, looking up.
“Goodness, how the time has flown,” said Clara. “It seems as though you had just gone. Have you another stamp, Mabel dear? I have used mine all up.”
“Say, you’re complimentary,” remarked Jim, dryly. “It’s great to be missed like that.”