Part 64 (1/2)

As he left second recitation Tough McCarty joined him.

”I say, d.i.n.k, they both wanted to be remembered to you, and here's a note from Sis.”

”A note?”

”Here it is.”

Stover stood staring at a violet envelope, inscribed in large, flowing letters: ”Mr. John H. Stover.”

Then he put it in his pocket hastily and went to his room. Luckily the Tennessee Shad was poaching in the village. He locked the door, secured the transom and drew out the note. It was sealed with a crest and perfumed with a heavenly scent. He held it in his hand a long while, convulsively, and then broke the seal with an awkward finger and read:

_Dear Mr. Stover_: Just a word to thank you for being my faithful cavalier. Don't forget that you are to pay us a good, long visit this summer, and that we are to become the best of chums.

Your very good _friend_, JOSEPHINE MCCARTY.

P. S. Don't dare to ”kick yourself about the place,”

whatever that may mean.

When d.i.n.k had read this through once he immediately began it again.

The second reading left him more bewildered than ever. It was the first time he had come in contact with a manifestation of the workings of the feminine mind. What did she intend him to understand?

”I'll read it again,” he said, perching on the back of a chair. ”Dear Mr. Stover!” He stopped and considered. ”My dear Mr. Stover--Dear Mr.

Stover--well, that's all right. But what the deuce does she mean by 'faithful cavalier'--I wonder now, I wonder. She wants me to visit her--she can't be offended then. 'Your very good friend,' underlined twice, that sounds as though she wanted to warn me. Undoubtedly I made a fool of myself and this is her angelic way of letting me down.

'Friend'--underlined twice--of course that's it. What a blooming, sentimental, moon-struck jay I was. Gee, I could kick myself to Jericho and back!” But here his eye fell on the postscript and his jaw dropped. ”Now how did she guess that? That sounds different from the rest, as though--as though she understood.”

He went to the window frowning, and then to the mirror, with a new interest in this new Mr. John H. Stover who received perplexing notes on scented paper.

”I must get some decent collars,” he said pensively. ”How the deuce does Lovely Mead keep his tie tight--mine's always slipping down, showing the stud.” He changed his collar, having detected a smirch, and tried the effect of parting his hair on the side, like Garry c.o.c.krell.

”She's a wonderful woman--wonderful,” he said softly, taking up the letter again. ”What eyes! Reminds me of Lorna Doone. Josephine--so that's her name, Josephine--it's a beautiful name. I wish the deuce I knew just what she did mean by this!”

By nightfall he had written a dozen answers which had been torn up in a panic as soon as written. Finally, he determined that the craftiest way would be to send her his remembrances by Tough--that would express everything as well as show her that he could be both discreet and dignified.

In the afternoon he added a dozen extra high collars to his wardrobe and examined hesitatingly the counter of Gent's Bon-Ton socks, spring styles, displayed at Bill Appleby's.

The collars, the latest cut, he tried on surrept.i.tiously. They were uncomfortable and projected into his chin, but there was no question of the superior effect. Suddenly a new element in the school came to his notice--fellows like Lovely Mead, Jock Hasbrouk and Dudy Rankin, who wore tailor-made clothes, rainbow cravats, who always looked immaculate and whose trousers never bagged at the knees.

No sooner was this borne in upon him than he was appalled at the state of his wardrobe. He had outgrown everything. Everything he had bagged at the elbows as well as the knees. His neckties were frazzled and his socks were all earthy-browns and oat-meal grays.

His first step was to buy a blacking brush and his next to press his trousers under his mattress, with the result that, being detected and diverted by Dennis, they appeared next morning with a cross-gartered effect.

At nights, especially moonlight nights, under pretense of insomnia, he drew his bed to the open window and gazed sentimentally into the suddenly discovered starry system.

”What the deuce are you mooning about?” said the Tennessee Shad on the first occasion.

”I'm studying astronomy,” said d.i.n.k with dignity.

The Tennessee Shad gave a snort and soon went loudly off to sleep.