The Wrigley home was four blocks away, and Chester, once out of sight of
his own home, became meditative. He stopped, and after looking about to
see that he was not observed, drew from his inside pocket an envelope,
and for the twelfth time that day counted its contents. Ninety-four
dollars! The savings of a lifetime! It had originally been saved for the
purchase of a motor-cycle, but that was before Mildred Wrigley had
smiled at him one day across the senior study-hall. That seemed but
yesterday, and yet it must have been fully seven weeks before! He
replaced the money and continued on his way.
Chester paused at the Greek Candy Kitchen on Main Street to buy a box of
candy, richly bedight with purple silk, and by carefully gauging his
saunter, contrived to arrive at the Wrigley residence at fourteen
minutes after eight. He gave his tie a final adjustment, his hair a last
frantic smoothing, licked his dry lips--and rang the bell.
"Oh, good evening, Chester."
Mildred Wrigley had a small, birdlike voice. She was looking not so much
at Chester as at the beribboned purple box he held. They went into the
parlor.
"Oh, Chester," cried Mildred, as she opened the purple box, "how sweet
of you to bring me such heavenly candy. I just adore chocolate-covered
cherries. I could just DIE eating them."
She popped two of them into her mouth, and sighed ecstatically. They
discussed, with great thoroughness, the weather of the day, the weather
of the day before and the probable weather of the near future. Then
Mildred moved her chair a quarter of an inch nearer Chester's.
"There, now," she said, with her dimpling smile, "let's be real comfy."
A glow enveloped Chester.
"I had the most heavenly supper to-night," confided Mildred.
"I hardly ate at all," said Chester.
"Oh, you poor, poor boy," said Mildred. "Do pass me another candy."
They discussed school affairs, and the approaching examinations.
"I'm so worried," confessed Mildred. "Horrid old geometry. Stupid
physics. What do I care why apples fall off trees? I'm going to go on
the stage. That miserable old wretch, Miss Shufelt, has been writing
nasty notes to Dad, saying I don't study enough."
Her lip trembled; she looked so small, so weak. "Look here," said
Chester, hoarsely, "we've known each other for a long time now, haven't
we?"
"Yes, ever so long," said Mildred, taking another chocolate-covered
cherry. "Months and months."
"Do you think one person ought to be frank with another person?"
"Of course I do, Chester, if they know each other well enough."
"I mean very frank."
"Well," said Mildred, "if they know each other very, very well, I think
they ought to be very frank."
"How long do you think one person ought to know another person before
he, or for that matter she, ought to be very frank with that person."
"Oh, months and months," answered Mildred.
Chester passed his white silk handkerchief over his damp brow.
"When I say very frank, I mean very frank," he said.
"That's what I mean, too." She took another chocolate-covered cherry.
Chester went on, speaking rapidly.
"For example, if one person should tell another person that he liked
that person and he didn't really mean like at all but another word like
like, only meaning something much more than like--don't you think he
ought to tell that person what he really meant? I mean, of course,
providing that he had known that person months and months and knew her
very well and----"
"I guess he should," she said, taking a sudden keen interest in the toe
of her slipper. Chester plunged on.
"But suppose you were the person that another person had said they
liked, only they really didn't mean like but another word that begins
with 'l,' do you think that person ought to be very frank and tell you
that the way he regarded you did not begin 'li' but began 'lo'?"
"I guess so," she said, without abandoning the minute scrutiny of her
toe.
"Well," said Chester, "that's how I regard you, not with an 'li' but
with an 'lo.'"
Mildred did not look up.
"Oh, Chester," she murmured. He hitched his chair an inch nearer hers,
and with a quick, uncertain movement, took hold of her hand. A loud slam
of the front door caused them both to start.
"It's Dad," whispered Mildred. "And he's mad about something."
Her father, large and red-faced, entered the room.
"Good evening," he said, nodding briefly at Chester.
"Mildred, come into my study a minute, will you. There's something I
want to talk to you about."
* * * * *
The folding doors closed on father and daughter, and Chester was left
balancing himself on the edge of a chair.
Mildred's father had a rumbling voice that now and then penetrated the
folding doors and Chester caught the words "whippersnapper" and
"callow." He heard, too, Mildred's small, high voice, protesting. She
was in tears.
Presently Mildred reappeared, lacrimose. "Oh, that nasty, horrid Miss
Shufelt," she burst out.
"What has she done?" asked Chester.
"The nasty old cat asked Dad to stop in to see her to-night on his way
home from the office, and she told him the awfulest things about me."
"She did?" Chester's voice was rich with loathing. "I just wish I had
her here, that's all I wish," he added fiercely.
"She said," went on Mildred, with fresh sobs, "she
said--I--was--boy--c-c-crazy. And--I--never--studied--and----"
"Darn that woman!" cried Chester.
"And Dad's--going--to--send--me--to--S-Simpson Hall!"
The idea stunned Chester.
"Simpson Hall? Why, that's a boarding school in Massachusetts, miles and
miles from here," he gasped.
"I know it," said Mildred. "I know a girl who went there. It's a nasty,
horrid place." A fresh attack of sobs seized her.
"They'll--make--me--do--c-calisthenics,
and--they--won't--give--me--anything--to--eat--but--b-beans."
Nothing but beans! Mildred eat beans! It was an outrage, a sacrilege.
"He's already written to Simpson Hall," wailed Mildred. "And I have to
go, Monday."
"Monday? Not Monday? Why, to-day's Friday!" Chester's face became
resolute; he felt in his inside pocket where his envelope was.
"You _sha'n't_ go," he declared. "You and I will elope to-morrow
morning."