book over the low hanging branch of a tree and caught it again . . .
A little coupé, shiny-new, passed him and stopped close to the curb with a mournful whine of brakes. He saw that Eunice Hathaway was driving it. She sat half turned about in her seat, waiting for him to catch up to her. He thought, sighing, "I've got to go through this now, have I?"
He hailed her with what cordiality he could muster and said, "Where'd you get that doggy-looking wagon?"
"Brad," answered Eunice. "It's a Christmas present, a month early. Get in, Jock, and I'll take you to ride."
"Can't," Jock said hastily. "Thanks just the same, Eunice, but I can't to-day. I've got a class in a few minutes." Her eyes made him uneasy, and to stave off if possible what was coming he broke into praise of the machine. "Gee, it's a little beaut, isn't it? Just the thing for you for around town. How's it go? Linden Avenue hill on high, I'll bet money."
But Eunice was not to be diverted by such subterfuge. She put a hand gloved in suede through the coupé's open window and laid it on Jock's coat lapel. "Jock deah, I've been wantin' to see you and talk to you. Why don't you evah come ovah any moah? Do you realize I haven't even seen you since that football game you took me to, neahly two months ago?"
An impulse to tell Eunice exactly why she had not seen him, and wouldn't, if he could help it, from now on, assailed Jock. But thought of Brad prevented him. She might tell Brad, twisting the story in some way so that Brad would be angry with him . . .
"I know it, Eunice," he said. "I'm sorry about it,
