of me see why any woman should
resent "a love that passes the love of" her, and I am sure she wouldn't
if one of them was a poet born to enlighten the world. Yes, I breathed
easier at the thought of Sam's affection for Peter, and went back to the
case of the giant Belgian, though I don't think the artist quite
intended him to be taken that way.

Just as I had turned the front page I was interrupted by Clyde Tolbot,
who came whistling down the street and broke out all over with smiles
when he saw me out sunning myself.

"Gee! Betty, but it is good to see you at home!" he said.

They wore almost the exact words Sam had used, but they sounded
different. The sound is about all that is different in any of the things
men say to girls when they like them a lot. Tolly and I are very
appreciative of each other, and always have been.

"You are going to settle down and have a royal good time, aren't you,
Betty? I learned a new foxtrot up in Louisville last week I'm dying to
teach you, and now that Sue Bankhead has got a great big dance machine
we can fox almost every night. Will you come with me this evening?"

"I wish I could, Tolly," I said, with utter sincerity, for Tolly is the
very best dancer in the Harpeth Valley, not excepting Tom Pollard over
at Hillsboro. "But, Tolly, I must give up all thought of social
pleasures for a time." I spoke with a dignified reserve that fitted the
spirit that I ought to have when undertaking a great responsibility,
though I did want to dance. "I have some hard mental work to do."

"Well, blast old Hayesboro for a sad hole! You are going to go in for
brain athletics, Sam Crittenden for farmer heroics, and the only movie
that has peeped into town is going to be closed because it ran a Latin
Quarter film the afternoon the ladies stopped in from the United
Charities sewing circle, expecting a Cuban missionary thriller. I might
as well have my left foot amputated, it itches so for good dancing."
Tolly was so furious that I was positively sorry for him, and to comfort
and calm him I told him all about Peter's letter and the play, and the
way I had to read and criticize and help. He sniffed at the idea of
Peter, but the dramatist impressed him slightly.

"Say, that old boy is the real thing, Betty, child. He's the sure
win-out on Broadway. But how long will it take you to write that play
for your mollycoddle poet? You can get through with it before the
Country Club gets going good, can't you?