“Why, it’s Velvet Pants!” she exclaimed.
“Shall I chase him away?” asked Pete, swelling out his chest and looking belligerent. Janey laid a restraining hand on his arm.
“No; don’t chase him, Pete. Let him stay. The poor fellow’s probably lonesome. Everybody is here but him.”
“He deserves to be lonesome,” said Pete; “he’s yella.”
“Would you jump in to save a person from drowning if you didn’t know how to swim?” asked Janey.
“Of course I would,” replied Pete, promptly. “Now, see here, Janey Crosby, don’t you go sticking up for that wop. He’s not fit to associate with white men.”
She sat gazing at the small, miserable figure; then she made a sudden resolution.
“I’m going to ask him to come up to the party,” she said.
“No, you ain’t.”
“Whose birthday is this, Pete High? I guess it won’t do any harm to give him a dish of ice-cream. You don’t have to associate with him. Run down and tell him I’d like to see him, Pete.”