"No, I don't."

"Dick, you know what passes as brains in a girl for you. Earnest young
women who sit with you in a corner and talk earnestly about life. The
kind who when they were sixteen argued with grave faces as to whether
kissing was right or wrong--and whether it was immoral for freshmen to
drink beer."

Richard Caramel was offended. His scowl crinkled like crushed paper.

"No--" he began, but Anthony interrupted ruthlessly.

"Oh, yes; kind who just at present sit in corners and confer on the
latest Scandinavian Dante available in English translation."

Dick turned to him, a curious falling in his whole countenance. His
question was almost an appeal.

"What's the matter with you and Maury? You talk sometimes as though I
were a sort of inferior."

Anthony was confused, but he was also cold and a little uncomfortable,
so he took refuge in attack.

"I don't think your brains matter, Dick."

"Of course they matter!" exclaimed Dick angrily. "What do you mean? Why
don't they matter?"