his play if you find anything."

"Well--er--well, I have right in stock at present a little love-interest
tale I could unfold to you, Betty, about--Help! There comes the gentle
child Edith up the street now. I must go. I am too coarse-grained for
association with her." And before I could stop him he was gone through
the house and out the back way. That is the way it always is with Tolly
and Edith, either they are inseparable or entirely separate. They can't
seem to be coexistent citizens, and they have been fighting this way
since they both had on rompers. I wondered what Tolly had been doing
now.

"Clyde Tolbot needn't have gone just because I came. I can endure him
when I have other people to help me," said Edith, as she kissed me and
sat down sadly. She is always sad when Tolly has been sinful.

"What has Tolly been doing now?" I asked her, as I put that fascinating
Belgian face down on the floor and ruthlessly sat upon him, for the step
was getting cold, though the sun was delicious and had drawn out a nice
old bumblebee from his winter quarters to scout about the budding
honeysuckle over our heads.

"I am so hurt that I wouldn't tell anybody about it but you, dear, but
last night as he walked home with me, after we had been dancing down at
Sue's to the new phonograph, he--he put his arm almost around me and I
think--I think he was going to kiss me if I hadn't prevented him--that
is, he did kiss my hair--I think." Edith is the pale-nun type, and I
wish she could have seen how lovely she was with the blush that even the
failure of Tolly to kiss her brought up under her deep-blue eyes. Edith
didn't get any farther north to school than Louisville, and her maiden