was a very good listener. And then he started on football.
"You must come down and see me practice, Peggy," he told her earnestly. "I guess the practice is open to the public, except the two weeks before the Union State game. Then it's secret. Not even Dean Pennypacker can get in. Will you come?"
"Oh, I used to go to football practice every other afternoon or so last Fall," she replied rather airily. His unintentionally patronizing manner, she decided, needed reproof. "I knew lots of boys on the team. This year I work every afternoon but Wednesdays, so I don't know whether I can make it or not."
"Come next Wednesday, will you, Peggy?" he asked eagerly. The shot about "lots of boys" had found its mark. He was quite humble. "Maybe I'll get a chance to introduce you to Chester Trask."
She laughed. "I met Chester four years ago when he was a Freshman like you. I went to the Fall Frolic with him his Sophomore year."
"Oh," said Harold, abashed. And in a smaller voice, "He's a fine fellow, isn't he?"
"One of the best," she answered promptly. "Compared with him, a man like Dan Sheldon is—well, I won't say it."
