"Nobody cares."

Myra hesitated.

"_I_ care."

Something stirred within Amory.

"Oh, yes, you do! You got a crush on Froggy Parker. I guess everybody
knows that."

"No, I haven't," very slowly.

A silence, while Amory thrilled. There was something fascinating about
Myra, shut away here cosily from the dim, chill air. Myra, a little
bundle of clothes, with strands of yellow hair curling out from under her
skating cap.

"Because I've got a crush, too--" He paused, for he heard in the
distance the sound of young laughter, and, peering through the frosted
glass along the lamp-lit street, he made out the dark outline of the
bobbing party. He must act quickly. He reached over with a violent,
jerky effort, and clutched Myra's hand--her thumb, to be exact.

"Tell him to go to the Minnehaha straight," he whispered. "I wanta talk
to you--I _got_ to talk to you."

Myra made out the party ahead, had an instant vision of her mother,
and then--alas for convention--glanced into the eyes beside. "Turn down