She paused and looked over the moving mass of students, boys and girls who were laughing happily or walking away dejectedly according to the colors they wore. Tom followed her gaze. He saw Langridge approaching and he knew that Miss Tyler had seen him also.
“There’s Mr. Langridge!” she exclaimed. “I wonder how he feels? He promised to meet me after the game.”
Tom took a sudden resolve. He did not stop to think that it might be a foolish one. He was actuated solely by what he argued to himself was a platonic interest in the pretty girl at his side. He had known her in childhood, he knew her people, and they were old friends of his folks. Of late Tom had heard certain rumors about Langridge, nothing serious as rumors about college students go, but enough to make Tom glad that, in the case of his sisters, Langridge could not get to know them. It was therefore with somewhat the same feeling that he might have warned his sisters that he spoke to Miss Tyler.
“You and Mr. Langridge are quite friendly,” he said in what he intended to be a light tone.
“Oh, yes,” came the frank answer. “I like him immensely. I like all college boys—when they’re nice,” she finished with a little laugh.
Tom’s face was grave, and she saw it. With a girl’s intuition she felt that there was something in the air, and, girl-like, she wanted to know what it was.
“Shouldn’t I like him?” she demanded with an arch look.
“Well—er—that is—no, Miss Madge!” burst out Tom, speaking more loudly than he had intended to. “You won’t mind me speaking about it, for I’ve known you so many years.”
“Oh, I’m not so ancient as all that!” exclaimed the girl rather pertly.
“No,” admitted Tom, and he felt that he was getting into deep water and beyond his depth. But he would not retreat and floundered on: “No, but I—I know your folks wouldn’t like you to go with Langridge—that is, too much, you know. He does not bear a very good——”