trousers pocket. “How much? I’ll settle with you before I forget.”
A pink flush swept over the boy’s pale face,—a delicate face under ragged hair, contracted by a kind of shrinking unhappiness. His eyes were always half-closed, as if he did not want to see the world around him, or to be seen by it. He went about like somebody in a dream. “Miss Farmer,” he whispered, “has paid me.”
“Well, she thinks of everything!” exclaimed one of the girls. “You used to go to school to Gladys, didn’t you, Irv?”
“Yes, mam.” He got into his car without opening the door, slipping like an eel round the steering-rod, and drove off.
The girls followed Ralph up the gravel walk toward the house. One whispered to the others: “Do you suppose Gladys will come out tonight with Bayliss Wheeler? I always thought she had a pretty warm spot in her heart for Claude, myself.”
Some one changed the subject. “I can’t get over hearing Irv talk so much. Gladys must have put a spell on him.”
“She was always kind to him in school,” said the girl who had questioned the silent boy. “She said he was good in his studies, but he was so frightened he could never recite. She let him write out the answers at his desk.”
Ralph stayed for lunch, playing about with the girls until his mother telephoned for him. “Now I’ll have to go home and look after my brother, or he’ll turn up tonight in a striped shirt.”
“Give him our love,” the girls called after him, “and tell him not to be late.”
As he drove toward the farm, Ralph met Dan, taking
