Flaxie blushed painfully. Once she would not have minded it so very much, for she had been formerly a pert child; but in growing older, she was growing more modest, sensitive, and retiring. She withdrew the cracker and produced the ticket, feeling with shame that she was behaving very unlike the elegant little girl who travelled with a book, a parasol, and a paper of candy.
But she was to suffer still more. The conductor had scarcely passed out of hearing when Preston said, in his wise, elder-brotherly tone, "Here, child, if this is the way you're going to behave, I might as well have that ticket myself; your check, too. Oh, yes, and give me the key to your valise, and now your porte-monnaie. Wouldn't you like to have me take care of your handkerchief?" He spoke half in jest, still it was quite too bad of him, for Flaxie was not a careless child; neither did she need "taking down," or at all events, she did not need it any more than Preston himself.
"I don't see what makes you think I'm such a baby. I'm only four years younger than you," she remonstrated, sighing heavily as she handed to him, one after another, the contents of her little cloak-pocket. He took them from her with a condescending smile.
"There, now, I feel easier," said he, settling himself comfortably; "you'll have all you want to do to take care of the crackers and cheese. Why don't you eat them instead of offering them to the conductor? He has had his breakfast. Won't they laugh, though, at home, when I tell them about that?"
"Oh, Preston Gray, if you do tell about that!"
Flaxie had borne her trials thus far with patience, but now the tears started and she was battling to keep them back. Preston saw that he had gone too far, and though secretly wondering why it was that "girls can never take jokes," he resolved to make himself more agreeable during the rest of the journey.