sumed a rather arrogant and impudent manner. If I did not let him go it was a "rotten shame," and not in any sense giving him a "square deal," he asserted. There was nothing to do but to refuse his request if I were to keep my self-respect, and he flushed hot and banged the door furiously as he went out.
Then Hughes came in, smiling and gracious and frank.
"We boys are a terrible bother to you, aren't we?" he began.
"Not always," I said. "What would you like?"
"It's nervy in me to ask, I know," he went on, "but I don't want to come back until Tuesday morning after Thanksgiving. I haven't much of an excuse you'll think, but there's a party Monday night, and there's a girl at home I know, and—and I'd like to take her to the party." He looked up blushing.
Well, there was a girl once I knew—there is yet in fact—whom I liked tremendously well to take to a party.
"That'll be all right, Hughes," I said; "give her my love."
Now, when I thought it over at night, I wasn't quite sure that I'd been fair to Carter. He had as good a case as Hughes; he had simply put it unfortunately. He didn't have good manners, and I had refused him only because he was not quite polite. I have an idea that many people do the same sort of thing for a similar reason.
Good manners must be genuine to make a permanent
