The Little Doctor sighed.

"Dr. Cecil Granthum's a mighty good fellow--I'm stuck on him, myself--
and if I haven't got the symptoms sized up wrong, the Old Man's GOING
to be."

"That's all the good it will do him. Cecil and I are going somewhere
and practice medicine together--and we aren't either of us going to get
married, ever!"

"Have you got the papers for that?" grinned Chip, utterly unmoved.

"I have my license," said the Little Doctor, coldly.

"You're ahead of me there, for I haven't--yet. I can soon get one,
though."

"I wish to goodness you'd hurry up with that shoe! I'm half starved."

"Well, show me a dimple and you can have it. My, you are cranky!"

The Little Doctor showed him two, and Chip laid the shoe in her lap--
after he had surprised himself, and the doctor, by planting a daring
little kiss upon the toe.

"The idea!" exclaimed she, with a feeble show of indignation, and
slipped her foot hurriedly into its orthodox covering. Feeling his
inscrutable, hazel eyes upon her, she blushed uncomfortably and fumbled
the laces.