"You just gave me
your sol--"
"I beg!" Fred cried, retreating. "I mean, aside from all that, why, I
just thought maybe after such an evening you'd feel as a gentleman you
ought to go and ask about her health."
"Now, see here--"
"No, I mean it; you ought to," Fred insisted, earnestly, and as
his roommate glared at him with complete suspicion, he added, in
explanation. "You ought to go next Caller's Night, and send in your
card, and say you felt you ought to ask if she'd suffered any from the
night air. Even if you couldn't manage to say that, you ought to start
to say it, anyhow, because you-- Keep off o' me! I'm only tryin' to do
you a good turn, ain't I?"
"You save your good turns for yourself," Ramsey growled, still advancing
upon him.
But the insidious Mitchell, evading him, fled to the other end of the
room, picked up his cap, and changed his manner. "Come on, ole bag o'
beans, let's be on our way to the 'frat house'; it's time. We'll call
this all off."
"You better!" Ramsey warned him; and they trotted out together.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149