his gaze hurriedly.

"They're very--nice," he murmured.

The other elevated one ankle and viewed it approvingly. "Saw them in a
window in New York yesterday and fell for them at once. I've got another
pair that are sort of pinky-grey, ashes of roses, I guess. Watch for
them. They'll gladden your heart. You're new, aren't you?"

"Yes, I got here this morning," replied Clint. "I suppose you're--you're
not."

"No, this is my third year. I'm in the Fifth Form. What's yours?"

"I don't know yet. I reckon they'll put me in the Fourth."

"I see. How's everything below the Line?"

"Below the line?" repeated Clint.

"Yes, Mason and Dixon's. You're from the South, aren't you?"

"Oh! Yes, I come from Virginia; Cedar Run."

The other chuckled. "What state did you say?" he asked.

"Virginia," responded Clint innocently. "Great! 'Vay-gin-ya.'" He shook
his head. "No, I can't get it."

It dawned on Clint that the other was trying to mimic his pronunciation