'Then there is n't any 'Sparking Sunday night'?' sung Tom, who appeared to have waked up again.
'Of course not. Polly is n't going to marry anybody; she 's going to keep house for Will when he 's a minister, I heard her say so,' cried Maud, with importance.
'What a fate for pretty Polly!' ejaculated Tom.
'She likes it, and I 'm sure I should think she would; it 's beautiful to hear 'em plan it all out.'
'Any more gossip to retail, Pug?' asked Tom a minute after, as Maud seemed absorbed in visions of the, future.
'He told a funny story about blowing up one of the professors. You never told us, so I suppose you did n't know it. Some bad fellow put a torpedo, or some sort of powder thing, under the chair, and it went off in the midst of the lesson, and the poor man flew up, frightened most to pieces, and the boys ran with pails of water to put the fire out. But the thing that made Will laugh most was, that the very fellow who did it got his trousers burnt trying to put out the fire, and he asked the is it Faculty or President? '
'Either will do,' murmured Tom, who was shaking with suppressed laughter.
'Well, he asked 'em to give him some new ones, and they did give him money enough, for a nice pair; but he got some cheap ones, with horrid great stripes on 'em, and always wore 'em to that particular class, 'which was one too many for the fellows,' Will said, and with the rest of the money he had a punch party. Was n't it dreadful?'
'Awful!' And Tom exploded into a great laugh, that made Fanny cover her ears, and the little dog bark wildly.
'Did you know that bad boy?' asked innocent Maud.
'Slightly,' gasped Tom, in whose wardrobe at college those identical trousers were hanging at that moment.
'Don't make such a noise, my head aches dreadfully,' said Fanny, fretfully.
'Girls' heads always do ache,' answered Tom, subsiding from a roar into a chuckle.
'What pleasure you boys can find in such ungentlemanly things, I don't see,' said Fanny, who was evidently out of sorts.
'As much a mystery to you as it is to us, how you girls can like to gabble and prink from one week's end to the other,' retorted Tom.
There was a pause after this little passage-at-arms, but Fan wanted to be amused, for time hung heavily on her hands, so she asked, in a more amiable tone, 'How 's Trix?'
'As sweet as ever,' answered Tom, gruffly.
'Did she scold you, as usual?'
'She just did.'
'What was the matter?'
'Well, I 'll leave it to you if this is n't unreasonable: she won't dance with me herself, yet don't like me to go it with anybody else. I said, I thought, if a fellow took a girl to a party, she ought to dance with him once, at least, especially if they were engaged. She said that was the very reason why she should n't do it; so, at the last hop, I let her alone, and had a gay time with Belle, and to-day Trix gave it to me hot and heavy, coming home from church.'
'If you go and engage yourself to a girl like that, I don't know what you can expect. Did she wear her Paris hat to-day?' added Fan, with sudden interest in her voice.
'She wore some sort of a blue thing, with a confounded bird of Paradise in it, that kept whisking into my face every time she turned her head.'
'Men never know a pretty thing when they see it. That hat is perfectly lovely.'
'They know a lady when they see her, and Trix don't look like one; I can't say where the trouble is, but there 's too much fuss and feathers for my taste. You are twice as stylish, yet you never look loud or fast.'
Touched by this unusual compliment, Fanny drew her chair nearer as she replied with complacency, 'Yes, I flatter myself I do know how to dress well. Trix never did; she 's fond of gay colors, and generally looks like a walking rainbow.'
'Can't you give her a hint? Tell her not to wear blue gloves anyway, she knows I hate
'em.'
'I 've done my best for your sake, Tom, but she is a perverse creature, and don't mind a word I say, even about things much more objectionable than blue gloves.'
'Maudie, run and bring me my other cigar case, it 's lying round somewhere.'
Maud went; and as soon as the door was shut, Tom rose on his elbow, saying in a cautiously lowered voice, 'Fan, does Trix paint?'
'Yes, and draws too,' answered Fanny, with a sly laugh.
'Come, you know what I mean; I 've a right to ask and you ought to tell,' said Tom, soberly, for he was beginning to find that being engaged was not unmitigated bliss.
'What makes you think she does?'
'Well, between ourselves,' said Tom, looking a little sheepish, but anxious to set his mind at rest, 'she never will let me kiss her on her cheek, nothing but an unsatisfactory peck at her lips. Then the other day, as I took a bit of heliotrope out of a vase to put in my button-hole, I whisked a drop of water into her face; I was going to wipe it off, but she pushed my hand away, and ran to the glass, where she carefully dabbed it dry, and came back with one cheek redder than the other. I did n't say anything, but I had my suspicions. Come now, does she?'
'Yes, she does; but don't say a word to her, for she 'll never forgive my telling if she knew it.'
'I don't care for that; I don't like it, and I won't have it,' said Tom, decidedly.
