“Some afternoon when I’m at home?” asked Betty innocently.
“Of course! Only—only when are you at home?”
Betty creased her forehead charmingly and thought deeply.
“I’m pow’ful unsartin’, I’m afraid. But—I’m usually at home on Thursday.”
“Thursday!” cried Phillip. “But to-morrow’s Thursday, and the next one’s a week off! More than a week!”
“Why, so it is!” she laughed. “What shall we do about it?”
“Oh, of course you don’t care,” he grumbled.
“I do if you do,” she said contritely. “We’ll alter the calendar.”
“How?” he asked eagerly.