“Open what?” asked Tom, looking about the room. “You don’t mean to say some one has sent me a prize package; do you?”
“Or maybe Moses has sent in to say that I don’t need to study any more; that I’ve done so well that I’m to be excused from all lectures, and that my diploma is waiting for me,” spoke Phil mockingly. “Don’t tell me that, fellows; remember I have a weak heart.”
“It’s the invitations!” exclaimed Sid. “At least I think that’s what they are. We got ’em, and here are two letters—one for you, Tom, and one for Phil. Come on, open ’em, and we’ll answer, and go together.”
“Go where?” demanded Tom. “Say, what’s this all about, anyhow? What’s going on?”
“They’re all excited over it,” added Phil. “Like children.”
“Oh! for cats’ sake open ’em, and don’t keep us waiting,” begged Frank, as he reached for two envelopes that lay on the table. The missives unmistakably bore evidence of being “party bids,” but Tom kept up the tantalizing tactics a little longer, by turning his over from side to side, pretending to scrutinize the postmark, and then ended by gently smelling of the delicate perfume that emanated from it.
“Smells good enough to eat,” he said, while Phil was tearing his open.
“It’s an invitation all right,” remarked Ruth’s brother. “The girls are to give a little dance to-morrow night. Shall we go?”
“Well, rather!” exclaimed Sid quickly.
“Listen to him,” mocked Tom. “About a year ago he would no more think of going where the girls were than he would of taking in a lecture on the dead Romans. But now. Oh shades of Apollo! You can’t keep him home!”