“Raspberry jam.”
“Uh-huh. All right. Better make it two, then.”
Polly Deane eyed him severely. “Kewpie Proudtree,” she exclaimed, “you know you oughtn’t to eat all this sweet stuff!”
“Oh, what’s the difference?” demanded the youth morosely. “Gee, a fellow can’t starve all the time! Maybe I won’t go in for football next year, anyway. It’s a dog’s life. No desserts you can eat, no candy, no—”
“Well, I think that’s a very funny way for you to talk,” interrupted Polly indignantly. “After the way you played in the Farview game and everything! Why, every one said you were just wonderful, Kewpie!”
Kewpie’s gloom was momentarily dissipated, giving place to an expression of gratification. He hastily elevated a portion of ice-cream to his mouth and murmured deprecatingly, “Oh, well, but—”
“And you know perfectly well,” continued the girl, “that pastry and sweets make you fat, and Mr. Mulford won’t like it a bit, and—”
It was Kewpie’s turn to interrupt, and he did it vigorously. “What of it?” he demanded. “I don’t have to stay fat, do I? I’ve got all summer to train down again, haven’t I? Gee, Polly, what’s the use of starving all the winter and spring just to play football for a couple of months next fall? Other fellows don’t do it.”
“Why, Kewpie, you know very well that most of them do! You don’t see Ned and Laurie eating pastry here every afternoon.”