The Haunted Pajamas Part 10

"So now it's up to you," she said, "and I want to know what's the answer."

The answer!

And how could I give her any answer? No, by Jove, I knew jolly well I couldn't take advantage of such circ.u.mstances--of her artless confession; knew devilish well it wouldn't do, you know. Might reproach me in years to come; and then--and then, there was Billings!

So I just contented myself with looking up smilingly, but it was hard--awfully, awfully hard, dash it--and I just felt like a jolly cad--or fool. Couldn't tell which.

CHAPTER VII

CONFIDENCES

This beautiful creature had proposed to me!

By Jove, that's what it amounted to practically; and now, as she said, it was up to me. Yet I couldn't say a word!

"Well, what must I do about the other one?" she insisted.

The question reminded me of the entanglement to which her frank simplicity had confessed. And she expected me, of all others, to tell her what to do! I looked up into the radiant, crimsoned face as she bent forward slightly, her lips parted, her eyes eager--expectant. She was hanging upon my reply.

I coughed slightly. "That question is hardly fair, you know," I said meaningly. "You see, it hits me rather personally."

"Oh!" she said.

I nodded and tried to find her hand as I looked down.

"So _that's_ where the shoe pinches!" And she whistled thoughtfully.

And just then my upward reaching hand found hers. And yet no, it couldn't be her hand, either; it felt like the crash cover of the cus.h.i.+on--rough and fibrous. And yet, by Jove, it _was_ a hand, for it gave mine a grip that almost broke my fingers and then dropped them. By the time I looked up, I saw only her little palm resting upward on her knee.

It was funny; but I had other things to think about than puzzles.

She sighed. "Well, I'm the one that can feel for you, d.i.c.ky." Here the sigh lifted and her laugh pealed like a chime of silver bells. "I guess Brother Jack doesn't know as much about your affairs as he thinks, does he--eh? Why, he told me you were more afraid of a girl than of a mad dog."

And a slapping grip fell on my shoulder that made me tingle from head to toe. And yet I wished she wouldn't do that; if she did it again, I should just lose my head--I knew I should.

But here she rose, stretched her arms, and dropped into the wicker arm-chair. She hitched it nearer to me.

"You see, it's like this," she began, a.s.suming a confidential air. "You know my sister's up at school at Cambridge, too."

"At Radcliffe College--yes." I nodded.

"Why, yes. Well, it's her room-mate!"

"Eh? I don't believe I--" I paused perplexedly.

"That's right--her room-mate, I tell you! And in a day or two she's coming home with Sis for a visit. I want you to come up for a week end--won't you--and look her over--I mean, see her and tell me what you think of her. You'll go crazy about her--oh, I know you will!"

I entered a protest. "Oh, I say now, you know, there's only one girl I ever saw I would care to look at twice."

She smiled adorably. "Oh, don't I know all about how you feel? But I just want you to see this girl--she's the prettiest and swellest that's been around Boston for many a day; and on Sunday morning she could give the flag to all the Avenue. Why, d.i.c.ky, she's from China!"

"China!" I must have looked the scorn I felt. "Oh, come now, you don't think a Chinese girl is--"

"Not Chinese, d.i.c.ky." In her eagerness, she moved so near, the silk of her pajamas brushed my hand. "She's English. Her dad's the British Governor General of Hong Kong--Colonel Francis Kirkland, you know--beefy-looking old chap with white mutton chops--I saw his picture."

Hong Kong! I wondered if she knew Mastermann, the chap who had sent me the red pajamas. Why, dash it, of course she would; for this fellow Mastermann was out there on government business, and he and the Governor must be thrown together a good deal.

Her musical laugh broke in on my speculations. "But the funniest thing is, d.i.c.ky, her name's the same as mine."

Her name! By Jove, and until this moment, I had not thought--

"Oh, I say," I exclaimed eagerly, "what _is_ your name, anyway?"

The l.u.s.trous eyes opened wide. "Why, you mean to say you don't know?

Thought you knew I was named after the governor. And she's named after _hers_--Frances, from Francis, you know--just the difference in a letter. See?"

"Frances!" I murmured lingeringly. "So your name's Frances?"

"Yes, and hers is Frances--odd, isn't it?"

I a.s.sented, but I wished she would drop the other girl--I wasn't interested there, except just because she was.

Her bosom lifted with a sigh. "Don't you think Frances is a peach of a name?"

"It's heavenly!" I whispered. "And I'm glad to hear about your friend, too."

Her sweet face clouded. "Not much of a friend; she don't lose any sleep over me," she commented gloomily. "Then there's Sis double-crossing me with her influence ever since I got hauled up before Prexy at Easter.

Sis is awfully prissy."

Her tone was almost savage. I strained incredulously after her meaning.

"Did I understand you to say you were brought up before the president there at Radcliffe?"

"Radcliffe?" Her head shook. "No--Harvard." And I nodded, recalling the affiliation between the two inst.i.tutions at Cambridge.

I wondered what silly, tyrannical straining of red tape discipline on some one's part had subjected this sensitive, refined girl to the humiliating ordeal of having to appear before the president of the college. Probably for plucking some trashy flower, or, at the worst, looking twice at some sappy freshman acquaintance waving his hand from a frat house.

"By Jove, a devilish shame!" I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"I should say!" Her voice was aggrieved. "All for a measly prize fight."

"Prize fight!" I gasped.