well, or whose
head carried itself so regally. There was something Spanish, too,
about her black hair and eyes and the flush of red in her cheeks.

Having perceived all this Dink began to recover from his panic and,
with a desire to wipe out his past awkwardness, began busily to search
for some subject with which gracefully to open up the conversation.

At that moment his eye fell upon his boot carelessly displayed and, to
his horror, beheld there a gaping crack. This discovery drove all
desire for conversation at once out of his head. By a covert movement
he drew the offending shoe up under the shadow of the other.

"You hate this, don't you?" said a laughing voice.

He turned, blushing, to find Miss McCarty's dark eyes alive with
amusement.

"Oh, now, I say, really----" he began.

"Of course, you loathe being dragged out this way," she said, cutting
in. "Confess!"

Dink began to laugh guiltily.

"That's better," said Miss McCarty approvingly. "Now we shall get on
better."

"How did you know?" said Dink, immensely mystified.

Miss McCarty wisely withheld this information, and before he knew it
Dink was in the midst of a conversation, all his embarrassment forgot.
The game ended--it had never been really important--and Dink found
himself, actually to his regret, moving toward the Lodge.

There, as he was saying good-by with a Chesterfieldian air, Tough
plucked him by the sleeve.

"I say, Dink, old man," he said doubtfully, "I'd like you to come over
and grub with us. But I don't want to haul you over, you know----"

"My dear boy, I should love to!" said Dink, squeezing his arm eagerly.

"Honest?"

"Straight goods!"

"Bully for you!"

He had three-quarters of an hour to dress before dinner. He went to
his room at a gallop, upsetting Beekstein and Gumbo on his volcanic
way upward. Then for half an hour the Kennedy was thrown into a
turmoil as the half-clothed figure of Dink Stover flitted from room to
room, burrowed into closets, ransacked bureaus and departed, bearing
off the choicest articles of wearing apparel. Meanwhile, the corridors
resounded with such unintelligible cries as these:

"Who's got a collar, fourteen and a half?"

"Darn you, Dink, bring back my pants!"

"Who swiped my blue coat?"

"Who's been pulling my things to pieces?"

"Hi there, bring back my shoes!"

"Dinged if he hasn't gone off with my cuff buttons, too!"

"Oh you robber!"

"Body snatcher!"

"Dink, the fusser!