“Why, John, I’m afraid I can’t go. Saturdays are busy days here. I don’t like to ask to get off.”
“Oh, you can fix it somehow. And besides I want to talk. I’ve got about a million things to tell you. You left in such a hurry I didn’t know you were gone till Roy told me the next day. I’ve certainly missed our talks.”
“Well, we’ll have some more; I’m starving for a talk with you!”
“Well, this is a fearsome place and I mustn’t keep you. So please see your boss and tell him or her this is a matter of life and death.”
At this moment Irene swept by with a valued customer and Grace appealed to her.
“Miss Kirby, Mr. Moore. Irene, Mr. Moore is an old friend of mine from I. U. and he wants me to go to the game. Would I be shot if I asked to get off?”
Irene surveyed Moore carefully and weighed the question for an instant.
“What do I get if I fix it?” she asked, giving the young man the benefit of her handsome eyes.
“I might offer a bushel of hickory-nuts,” said Moore. “I counted a lot on seeing the game with Grace.”
“I think,” said Irene with mock gravity, “I think it can be arranged. Miss Boardman sent word this morning that she’s ill and won’t be down, so I’m in charge. We’re likely to have a busy afternoon, but you run along, Grace.”