“What size do you wear?”
“Oh, thirteen or fourteen, I think. I’ll borrow a couple. Thanks, Morrill.”
“You’re welcome,” replied Rodney dryly. “It’s Merrill, though.”
“Of course. Beg pardon. What time is it? I forgot to wind my watch yesterday.”
Before Rodney could oblige him with the desired information there was a sound of approaching footsteps and voices in the hall, and in a moment half a dozen boys whose ages varied from fourteen to seventeen years flocked in. In deference to the stranger their entrance was quite decorous. One boy, a youth of Rodney’s own age, was grinning broadly, but the rest were politely serious.
“Thought we’d come in and get acquainted,” announced the eldest of the six, a tall, nice-looking chap of seventeen, who was evidently the leader at Westcott’s.
“Hello,” responded Kitty. “Funny about my trunk——”
“Never mind about your trunk,” laughed another visitor. “We’ve heard all about it, Kitty. I wonder you didn’t forget to bring yourself!”
The others chuckled, and Rodney, a trifle embarrassed, smiled. The boys seated themselves here and there about the room and there was a painful silence. Kitty, viewing them absently, was apparently deep in thought. Finally, with a laugh: