“Then everything would be all right,” finished Ruth. “But he won’t. Talk about women having a mind of their own, and being stubborn! I know a certain young man very much that way.”
“Oh, you mustn’t talk so about him,” expostulated Phil. “He’s all right. There’s something queer at the bottom of it, and I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that Langridge had had a hand in it.”
“By Jove, I never thought of that!” exclaimed Tom. “Maybe you’re right. I wonder if we could do anything to help?”
“Better not meddle,” cautioned Ruth. “Madge and I tried to use our influence, and were roundly snubbed for our pains. It’s too bad, but maybe things will come right after a while. Oh, there’s a lovely waltz! Isn’t it perfectly grand!” and her eyes sparkled in anticipation as Tom led her out on the floor while the music welled forth in dreamy strains.
Back in the “den of the inseparables” Sid sat in gloomy loneliness, making a pretense of studying.
“Oh, hang it all!” he cried at length, as he flung the book from him, knocking down the alarm clock in its flight. “What is the use? I might as well give up.”
Then, as he noted the cessation of the fussy ticking of the timepiece he crossed to where it lay on the ragged rug, and picked it up.
“Hope it isn’t damaged,” he murmured contritely. He shook it vigorously, and the ticking resumed. “It’s all right,” he added, with a breath of relief, “you couldn’t hurt it with an axe. Guess I might as well turn in. But I wish——” he paused, shrugged his shoulders helplessly, and did not finish.
There came a knock at the door, and Sid started. He flung open the portal, and Wallops, the messenger, stood in the hall.