. "Don't make an exhibition of yourself here."

"That's what I am," said Purt, sadly. "Fawncy meeting any of the
Stricklands, or the Tarbot-Rushes, or General Maline's people, here when
I'm in this condition. Weally, it is dweadful to contemplate."

"It's tough, I allow," said Chet callously. "What you need is a mask and
a blanket to disguise yourself."

"You're not likely to meet any of Centerport's Four Hundred over here at
Cavern Island Park," laughed Laura. "So you need not fear."

"I should think you would be just as ashamed presenting yourself before
_us_ as before those Maline girls," said Jess, tossing her head. "I am
insulted. No! you cannot pay for my ice cream, Mr. Sweet. Chet will pay
for it."

"Gee, Jess," chuckled Lance Darby. "If you eat more'n two dishes Chet
will go broke. I know the state of his finances to-day. And Purt always
has plenty of money."

"Weally, Miss Morse," urged Pretty, who was not usually prone to spend
his money. "Weally, you must let me pay the check--for all. It is my
treat, you know. And I assure you, I had no intention of saying anything
to offend you."

"But you consider those Maline girls--and they are the homeliest girls
in Centerport--of more importance than Laura and Dora and Dorothy and
me. You're not ashamed to appear before us with your outfit all smudged
up!"

"But, my dear Miss Morse!" gasped Pretty.

"Don't you 'dear' me, Mister!" ejaculated Jess, with every appearance of
anger. "If I'm not as good as Sissy Maline----"

"Oh, you are! You are!" declared Purt, in haste. "You misunderstand. I
am in this horrid state. But--you see--you saw it happen and realize
that it was an unavoidable accident----"

"Nothing of the kind!" snapped Jess, still apparently unyielding. "If
you hadn't tried to smoke a nasty cigarette----"

"Oh, I assure you it was a very mild one. I have them made extremely
mild--and with my monogram on the paper. Weally, you know----"

"Horrid thing! You're the only boy who smokes them that we know. What do
you say, girls? Sha'n't we cut Purt right off of our calling lists if he
doesn't give up monogrammed cigarettes?"

"They're the worst kind," murmured Chet. "The monogram makes 'em so much
more deadly."

"I tried one of Purt's coffin nails once--ugh!" admitted Lance. "He
calls 'em mild. But he's so saturated with nicotine that he doesn't know
what 'mild' means. I believe they make his cigarettes out of rope-yarn
and distilled opium. One p