why--good
lord, there's nothing in it when one knows the way to manage them.
They adore being kissed--provided it's done the right way. And if you
don't know the right way instinctively, it comes with practice, old
boy, it comes with practice." Billy had listened in awe, though
preserving sufficient presence of mind to agree with the speaker in
words of suitable nonchalance.

Of course, Johnson major must have been right; but, devil take it,
there seemed remarkably little instinct available at the present
moment; and up to date in Billy's career, practice in the proper
procedure had been conspicuous by its absence.

"I think you're rather dull to-day." The girl was speaking again, and
there was more than a hint of laughter in her voice. "What's the
matter with you? Has that cigarette made you feel sick?"

"Certainly not. I--er--oh, Molly, I----"

The desperate words trembled on his lips--trembled and died away under
the laughter in her eyes.

"Yes?" she murmured inquiringly. "What is it, Billy?"

Oh, woman, woman! Just sixteen, but at two you have learned the
beginnings of the book of Eve.

"I--er--I--oh, dash it, let's go for a walk!" With a gasp of relief he
swung on his heel; the fatal plunge had been put off for a little; he
hadn't made a fool of himself--yet, at any rate. "Do you mind if I
smoke?"

"Not if you don't." The girl was walking demurely beside him, down the
narrow lane carpeted with its first layers of auburn brown. "Are you
sure it's wise? Two so close together might not be good for you."

Two close together--not good for him! Absurd; it was nothing to what
he was accustomed to, and yet--why, his head was throbbing, throbbing
as he looked at the girl beside him? What was that distant noise like
the slow beating of a mighty drum, that seemed to quiver and vibrate in
the air till it filled his brain with a great rush of sound, and then
sobbed away into silence? What was the matter with his right hand that
it burned and twitched so ceaselessly? Surely he hadn't burnt himself
with the cigarette! He looked down to see, but somehow things were
indistinct. It almost seemed as if he hadn't got a hand; the woods
were hazy--Molly seemed far away. In her place was a man, a man with a
stubby growth on his chin, a man who bent over him and muttered
something.

"Gawd, Ginger, the poor devil ain't dead neither! Lift him up
carefully. There's his right arm over there, and his back----