Phyllis, standing on tiptoe and clinging precariously to his saddle-cloth, was dropping a roll of paper neatly into the jackboot of Hercules.
"Phyllis!" I gasped. "What are you doing?"
She turned to me happily.
"That's what Nannie does," she said, without a blush for her sex. "I put 'I love you.—Phyllis.' Do you think he'll be pleased?"
I seized both girls and hurried into the Park. My soul cried out for the open spaces. I stole a look at Hercules over my shoulder, but he was granite.
On Olympus the Olympians are above shame.
"Phyllis," I said gravely, "don't you think that was very naughty of you?"
"No," said that small Delilah firmly; "soldiers like it."
The even voice of Lillah broke in.
"And soldiers ought to have what they like, oughtn't they?"