I WENT and sat in the hammock again. It seemed a week since I had stretched out there after dinner; and here it was only four o'clock, and Bess had got back, and she and I had squabbled, and that other girl was coming, and everything was at logger-heads,—whatever they are. I swung, and kicked the railing, and yanked the hammock, and jabbed at the clematis frame with my feet. It's funny how you feel like smashing something when things go wrong! Of course my face was dirty and streaked and so was my blouse, and my necktie was untied. Bess must have thought I looked nice! I kicked the railing harder than ever. There was no use in going over to Bob Stevens' that late in the afternoon;—and I didn't want to see him anyway. Just to think of him, made me feel like punching him. Bess had no right to say I was selfish.
Just then a young man came around the corner of the house. He was about twenty, and his eyes were nice. "Hello, Chet!" he said.
