All unheeding the rest of the world, they were sitting at the foot of the cherry tree. The “conceited beggar” of the deep blue eyes was trying to toss cherries into Dickie’s open mouth. When she missed it became Dickie’s turn to toss cherries. The game was a spirited one. Dickie appeared to be well entertained.
“I thought you had forgotten me,” said I, mildly. Dickie’s laugh broke square in the middle, and he smoothed his face into a bored expression.
“Her name is Rosie,” this was the substance of the stammered introduction.
“Indeed!” I replied. “And you were right about her eyes; they are blue.”
Dickie flushed guiltily and hastily got on his feet.
“Come on,” he said; “I guess we’d better be going.”
Very frankly Rosie looked her opinion of me as we left. It was interesting to note the elaborate strategy used by Dickie to conceal the fact that he waved his handkerchief to her. There ensued a long silence between us, but of this Dickie seemed unconscious. He broke it by whistling “Bedelia” two notes off the key.
“It’s too bad, Dickie,” I said, finally, “that you dislike girls so much.”
“They’re a silly lot,” said Dickie, with a brave effort at a tired drawl.
“But Rosie, now——”