"Oh! Ah!" says a couple of voices in chorus. Then one of 'em goes on, "The young man who is visiting dear Meredith?"
"Yep," says I. "Same one."
"But it wasn't you playing the cornet so beautifully, was it?" comes coaxin' from the window.
"Tell them yes," whispers Merry, nudgin' violent.
"Gwan!" I whispers back. "I'm in bad enough as it is." With that I speaks up before he can stop me, "Not much!" says I. "That was dear Meredith himself."
"Oh-oh!" says the voices together. Then there's whisperin' between 'em. One seems urgin' the other on to something, and at last it comes out. "Young man," says the voice, smooth and persuadin', "please tell us who—that is—which one of us was the serenade intended for?"
This brings the deepest groan of all from J. Meredith.
"Come on, now," says I, hoarse and low in his ear. "It's up to you. Which?"
"Oh, really," he whispers back, "I—I can't!"
"You got to, and quick," says I. "Come now, was it Pansy?"