“Yes, there’s Sandy and The Fungus and Dutch and Hoop and Spud and—and Clara. Ned Brent—he’s my roommate—hasn’t any name except Ned.”
“Do you suppose they’ll let me call them by their nicknames?” asked Molly.
“I—I suppose so. Did you—ask your aunt about letting you come over?”
“Yes. She wanted to know who I was talking to and I told her it was one of the boys who came for the apples. I said you were very well-behaved and polite and that you wanted me to play tennis with you.”
“And what did she say?” he asked anxiously.
“She said,” Molly replied cheerfully, “that I couldn’t do anything of the sort!” Cal heaved a sigh of relief and Molly frowned.
“I don’t think it’s very nice of you to look so—so pleased about it!”
“I—I didn’t. It’s too bad, isn’t it? But I cal’late she knows what is best for you.”
“You’re just glad,” said Molly unhappily. “And after I went and said such nice things about you, too!” Cal’s conscience smote him.