"Gee, Maxine. You sure look swell in it. I guess you're the prettiest girl in Rock County."
"In Rock County?" asked Maxine, regarding him through large, offended eyes from beneath her coyly-tilted hat brim.
"In the world, I mean," said Peter, feeling his Adam's apple pressing uncomfortably against his high, stiff collar.
"Well, it's nine o'clock," said the girl, as the Librarian began banging Webster's Dictionary on her desk,—the usual signal for closing time.
They walked home together through the fall evening talking of everything except what was near their hearts. She took his arm at the crossing, and the small place where her hand rested was burning hot beneath his coat. There was a big harvest moon rising out of the elm trees from which the leaves were drifting down like large yellow petals. Their breath was white on the frosty air. Far overhead they could hear the honk of the wild geese flying south and the whistle of wings cutting the air.
They stood for a long time at the gate of the Larabee home whose windows gleamed invitingly. A smell of wood-smoke came from the chimney of the fireplace. The wind stirred in the trees.
"Well, ain't you going to kiss me goodnight," Maxine pouted, putting up her lips.
He thought she couldn't have said it. Nothing so wonderful could happen to a country boy. He hesitated, looking down at her loveliness, her lips a trifle apart, her eyes closed, waiting. His blood was singing a chorus through his temples and his ears rang with a strange music.
"Well," she said.
But he had waited too long. From the front door of the Larabee domicile came the booming voice of Mr. Larabee: