t it between
another and some danger of which that other is unaware, and remembered
what he had once said in talking of him,--"If Will Surrey's time does
come, I hope the girl will be all right in every way, for he'll plunge
headlong, and love like distraction itself,--no half-way; it will be a
life-and-death affair for him." "Come, I must break in on this."

"Surrey!"

"Yes."

"There's a pretty girl."

No answer.

"There! over yonder. Third seat, second row. See her? Pretty?"

"Very pretty."

"Miss--Miss--what's her name? O, Miss Perry played that last thing very
well for a school-girl, eh?"

"Very well."

"Admirable room this, for hearing; rare quality with chapels and halls;
architects in planning generally tax ingenuity how to confuse sound. Now
these girls don't make a great noise, yet you can distinguish every
word,--can't you?"

No response.

"I say, can't you?"

"Every word."

Tom drew a long breath.

"Professor Hale's a sensible old fellow; I like the way he conducts this
school." (Mem. Tom didn't know a thing about it.) "Carries it on
excellently." A pause.

Silence.

"Fine-looking, too. A man's physique has a deal to do with his success
in the world. If he carries a letter of recommendation in his face,
people take him on trust to begin with; and if he's a big fellow, like
the Professor yonder, he imposes on folks awfully; they pop down on
their knees to him, and clear the track for him, as if he had a right to
it all. Bless me! I never thought of that before,--it's the reason you
and I have got on so swimmingly,--is it not, now? Certainly. You think
so? Of course."

"Of course,"--sedately and gravely spoken.

Tom groaned, for, with a face kind and bright, he was yet no beauty;
while if Surrey had one crowning gift in this day of fast youths and
self-satisfied Young America, it was that of modesty with regard to
himself and any gifts and graces nature had blessed him withal.

"Clara has a nice voice."

"Very nice."

"She is to sing, do you know?"

"I know."

"Do you know when?"

No reply.

"She sings the next piece. Are you ready to listen?"

"Ready."

"Good Lord!" cried Tom, in despair, "the fellow has lost his wits. He
has turned parrot; he has done nothing but repeat my words for me since
he sat here. He's an echo."

"Echo of nothingness?" queried the parrot, smilingly.

"Ah, you've come to yourself, have you? Capital! now stay awake. There's
Clara to sing direc