themselves, still
it did hurt a little. I guess the reason why I pretended to have plenty
of money while traveling with Celia was because I was afraid of being
hurt again. And then too I remembered how she had said one evening the
year before when we were playing Truth that she despised stinginess
beyond any other vice. That had made an impression on me because I was
just going to say the very same thing myself.

Celia is a new student who is to join our class this year. We met her
last spring when she came up from a boarding-school in New York to visit
a senior. You remember her? It was at a fudge party in her honor that we
played the game of Truth, to which I have already alluded. She is the
kind of person who is generally asked to be an usher at a hall play or on
Founder's Day. She is tall, holds her head high, has an air. The doctor
herself said when she saw her in chapel the evening of her visit, "Who is
that striking girl?" She dresses beautifully too; and I think I shall ask
her to let me put down her name for two dances next month, if my cousin
and his roommate come from Yale for the reception.

Being new to the college atmosphere, she had an excuse for the way she
acted on the journey. An excuse that I did not have, you know--and I know
too. But as for that, more anon, anon! At present I start in and continue
by stating that on a certain September day I was sitting by myself in the
Union Station at Chicago, while I waited for my train. I had arrived two
hours before, and I was hungry, and I was also, as explained above,
strongly inclined to be economical. And therefore I was eating my
luncheon out of a pasteboard box, instead of going to a restaurant.

On my lap was a fringed napkin upon which reposed one slice of chocolate
cake with frosting, one big peach, and seven large white grapes each
containing at least three seeds. Just at the very moment when I took a
bite of the peach, hoping that none of the weary passengers around me was
taking notes, for that peach was certainly juicy,--just at that exact
moment, I happened to glance across to the door. There was Celia Lane,
with her head higher than ever, looking up and down for an empty seat.
And the only empty seat in the whole waiting-room was next to mine. And
my lap was strewn with an economical luncheon.

It was silly of me. I admit that once and forever, and shall not repeat
it again. But like lightning her remark about stinginess flashed into my
mind.