“Good-evening, Mr. Merriam,” said Billy, grinning, and rising in order to make a very low bow. “I never thought you were this far on the way to being a perfect lady, old boy—Mr. Merriam, I mean.”
“Going to call on an awfully correct girl,” said Tom off-handedly. “I say, Lou, can I have that blue class-pin of yours?”
“Certainly,” said Louise again, still more coldly, detaching it and holding it out. “Anything else you think you’d like?”
“Not that I can think of,” said Tom, taking the class-pin. “That’s a good old Lou,” he ended, adding insult to injury. Then he sat down and pulled out his mother’s celluloid memorandum tablets. He laid them on his knee and looked at them earnestly, as he adjusted the tie and the class-pin.
“Did you think of any more things for me to say after I landed the California Exposition on her?” he asked his sister.
Winona looked over at Billy to see if he saw the funny side of it. There was no use looking at Louise, for in her present sulky frame of mind she would not have seen anything funny in a whole joke-book.
“How would the next election do?” she suggested gravely.
“M-m—all right,” said Tom, entering it. “That won’t last forever, though, because all you can ever do is guess which man will get it. I think you might help a fellow out, Lou. You’re generally so clever.”
“Ask her how she likes her hats trimmed,” said Louise scornfully, without turning around to him.
“Oh, no,” said Tom, “that’s too silly a question.” But he put it down just the same. “Let’s see. That ought to carry me on till nearly nine.... Cæsar! It’s time I went! Don’t mind if I go off and leave you, do you Bill?”