“Listen to the old misogynist—him as wouldn’t used to speak to a girl!” cried Phil. “Oh, what a change! What a change!”
“Dry up!” commanded Sid, making a reach for his chum, who nimbly escaped by leaping behind the sofa.
“Say, this is pretty indefinite,” went on Tom. “They just ask us to come, and don’t say who’s to take who, or anything like that.”
“And there are a new lot of fellows at Fairview,” said Frank. “I move that we go over and make sure of our girls. I don’t want to get left.”
“I should have thought Ruth would be more definite,” put in Phil. “But say, we’ve got time to run over and back before grub. Come on.”
Regardless of the fact that they had just come in from a hard row, they soon got into their “semi-best suits,” as Sid called them, and hurried to the trolley that would land them at the co-educational institution.
“There are the girls!” exclaimed Tom, who, being in the lead, as he and his chums crossed the campus a little later, saw the four; Ruth, Madge Tyler, Mabel Harrison and Helen Newton.
They paired off—as they always did—and soon were walking in different directions. Tom was with Ruth Clinton, and after the matter of the dance had been settled, and she had agreed to accompany him, as doubtless the other girls had done for the other lads, the tall pitcher, with a glance at his pretty companion remarked:
“New pin, Ruth? Where did you get it?” and he looked at her collar-fastening.