"It's the man who came with you on the train," she told Randy.

"What's he wearing a pink coat for?" Randy demanded. "He isn't riding."

"He probably knows that he looks well in it."

"That isn't a reason."

Becky took another look. "He has a head like the bust of Apollo in our
study hall."

"I'd hate to have a head like that."

"Well, you haven't," she told him; "you may hug that thought to
yourself if it is any consolation, Randy."


V

Caroline Paine's boarders sat high up on the grandstand. If the
boarders seem in this book to be spoken of collectively, like the
Chorus in a Greek play, or the sisters and aunts and cousins in
"Pinafore," it is not because they are not individually interesting.
It is because, en masse only, have they any meaning in this history.

Now as they sat on the grandstand, they discerned Mrs. Paine in the
Judge's box. They waved at her, and they waved at Randy, they waved
also at Major Prime. They demanded recognition--some of the more
enthusiastic detached themselves finally from the main group and came
down to visit Caroline. The overflow straggled along the steps to the