“But if anybody objects——” the young brakeman continued, taking hold of the fixtures of the sash with his gloved hands.
“Isn’t he just a dear?” murmured Tavia to Dorothy, but loud enough for the young railroad man to hear.
“Do hush, Tavia!” gasped her friend.
The young man opened the window. The exertion seemed to have been considerable, for he grew red to the very tips of his ears while he was raising the sash!
“Oh, thank you—so much!” gushed Tavia, perfectly cool. And when the brakeman had gone, she turned to Dorothy, and demanded:
“Didn’t I say that prettily? Just like a New York society girl would say it—the one who took us to tea that time in the tea room that used to be a millionaire’s stable; do you remember?”
“You are just dreadful, Tavia!” groaned Dorothy Dale. “Will you never learn to behave?”
“There they are!” shrieked Tavia, with her head out of the window. “There are all the ‘bad pennies’—they always turn up again, you know.”
The train was slowing down and the long platform of the junction came into view.
“Who’s there?” begged Dorothy, willing to learn the details from her more venturesome companion.