"Yes," was her answer.

"Well, it was partly on that account," and Tom turned the conversation away from what he considered a dangerous subject.

If Langridge cherished any ill will toward Tom for taking away Miss Tyler the 'varsity pitcher did not show it. But Tom noticed that he was not far from the girl's side the remainder of the evening.

"I wonder if she doesn't believe what I told her about him," thought Tom. "Well, I'm not going to say anything more. Let her find out for herself. Only--well, what's the use?" and he went to claim another dance elsewhere.

It was the last waltz. Around the brilliant, gaily decorated room swung the dancers to the strains of the enthralling music. Langridge skilfully led Miss Tyler in and out among the maze of couples. The music turned into another melody.

"I think this is about half," she said.

"About half? What do you mean?"

"Well, you were so greedy," she explained, laughter in her eyes, "that I had to punish you. I gave half this last dance to--to the dominie," and her lips parted in a smile.

"Well, I like that!" spluttered Langridge, but just then Tom, who had been summoned from the "side lines" by a signal from Miss Tyler, came to claim her.

"I like your nerve, Parsons!" snapped Langridge, glad to be able to transfer his wrath to a foeman more worthy of it.

"It was my doing, Mr. Langridge," said the girl with some dignity.

"You had no right----" began the 'varsity pitcher.

"I fancy Miss Tyler is the best judge of that," spoke Tom coolly as he took the girl's hand.

"Is she?" sneered Langridge. "Maybe she knows who brought her to this affair then! If she does, she can find some one else to take her away,"

and he swung off.

For an instant Miss Tyler stood looking at him. The dancers whirled around the couple standing there and the music sounded sweetly. There was the suspicion of tears in her eyes.

"He had no right to say that!" she burst out.

"Indeed, no," agreed Tom. "But, since he has, may I have the honor of being your escort?"

"Yes," she said, and then, with a revulsion of feeling, she added, "Oh, Tom, I don't feel like dancing now. Take me home, please!"

CHAPTER XXIV

DRESS SUITS COME HIGH

So after all, Tom did not get the last half of the last waltz with Miss Tyler. He did not much care, however, for, as matters turned out, he had a longer time in her company. The girl soon recovered her usual spirits and the walk to where she was stopping with relatives in Haddonfield seemed all too short to Tom.

"Will you be at the game Sat.u.r.day?" he asked as they were about to part.

"What game?"

"Over at Fairview. Our team is going to try and run up a big score against them."

"I hadn't thought of going."

"Then won't you please think now?" pleaded Tom, with an odd air of patheticness, at which Miss Tyler laughed gaily.

"Well, perhaps I shan't find that so _very_ difficult," she replied.

"And if you think real hard, can you get a mental picture of your humble servant taking you to that game?" Tom was very much in earnest, though his air was bantering.

"Well," she answered tantalizingly, "I do seem to see a sort of hazy painting to that effect."

"Good! It will grow more distinct with time. I'll call for you, then. A number of the boys are going to charter a little steamer and sail down the river, and into the lake. We'll land at a point about four miles from Fairview, and go over in some automobiles."

"That will be jolly!"

"I'm glad you think so. Is the picture any clearer?"

"Oh, yes, much so. I think the autos have cleared away the mist. Aren't we silly, though?" she asked.

"Not a bit of it," declared Tom stoutly. "I'll be on hand here for you, then, shortly after lunch on Sat.u.r.day."

"Is the nine going that way?"

Tom felt a sudden suspicion. Was she asking because she wanted to know whether Langridge would be in the party of merrymakers?

"No, I think they're going in a big stage."

"I thought maybe you might want to be with the nine," she went on, and Tom saw that he had misunderstood. "You might get a chance to pitch,"

and she looked at him.

"No such luck," replied Tom, trying to speak cheerfully, but finding it hard work. "Well, I'll say good-night, or, rather, good-morning. When I write home I must tell my folks about meeting you here."

"Yes, do. I've already written to mine, telling what a fine time I'm having."

Tom was rather thoughtful on his way home. He stumbled into his dark room, nearly falling over something.

"What's the matter?" asked Sid, who was in bed.

"That's what I want to know," replied Tom, striking a match. "Why don't you keep your patent leathers out of the middle of the floor?" he demanded.

"I did, Tommy, me lad, as Bricktop Molloy would say, but I had to throw them out there later."

"How's that?"

"Mice. Two of the cute little chaps sitting in the middle of the floor, eating some nuts that dropped out of my pocket. I stretched out on the bed without undressing when I came in from the dance, and must have fallen asleep, with the light burning. When I woke up I saw the mice staring at me, and I heaved my shoes at the beggars, for I'd taken 'em off--my shoes, I mean--when I came in, as my feet hurt from dancing so much. Then I doused the glim and turned in, for I knew you wouldn't be along until daylight."

"Why not?"