my heart, though Mabel says it is provoking when they go off to their fraternity fishing-camp for week-ends instead of coming to her delightful over-Sunday parties out on Long Island.  Judge Vandyne feels as I do about it, and he loves Sam as much as Peter does, though I don’t believe that he has any deeper affection for Peter than Sam has.  I’ve been intending to read up about David and Jonathan, but I feel sure, from dim memories, that their histories about describe Peter and Sam.  I couldn’t for the life of me see why any woman should resent “a love that passes the love of” her, and I am sure she wouldn’t if one of them was a poet born to enlighten the world.  Yes, I breathed easier at the thought of Sam’s affection for Peter, and went back to the case of the giant Belgian, though I don’t think the artist quite intended him to be taken that way.

Just as I had turned the front page I was interrupted by Clyde Tolbot, who came whistling down the street and broke out all over with smiles when he saw me out sunning myself.

“Gee!  Betty, but it is good to see you at home!” he said.

They wore almost the exact words Sam had used, but they sounded different.  The sound is about all that is different in any of the things men say to girls when they like them a lot.  Tolly and I are very appreciative of each other, and always have been.

“You are going to settle down and have a royal good time, aren’t you, Betty?  I learned a new foxtrot up in Louisville last week I’m dying to teach you, and now that Sue Bankhead has got a great big dance machine we can fox almost every night.  Will you come with me this evening?”

“I wish I could, Tolly,” I said, with utter sincerity, for Tolly is the very best dancer in the Harpeth Valley, not excepting Tom Pollard over at Hillsboro.  “But, Tolly, I must give up all thought of social pleasures for a time.”  I spoke with a dignified reserve that fitted the spirit that I ought to have when undertaking a great responsibility, though I did want to dance.  “I have some hard mental work to do.”

“Well, blast old Hayesboro for a sad hole!  You are going to go in for brain athletics, Sam Crittenden for farmer heroics, and the only movie that has peeped into town is going to be closed because it ran a Latin Quarter film the afternoon the ladies stopped in from the United Charities sewing circle, expecting a Cuban missionary thriller.  I might as well have my left foot amputated, it itches so for good dancing.”  Tolly was so furious that I was positively sorry for him, and to comfort and calm him I told him all about Peter’s letter and the play, and the way I had to read and criticize and help.  He sniffed at the idea of Peter, but the dramatist impressed him slightly.

“Say, that old boy is the real thing, Betty, child.  He’s the sure win-out on Broadway.  But how long will it take you to write that play for your mollycoddle poet?  You can get through with it before the Country Club gets going good, can’t you?  We’ve had a new floor in the dancing-pavilion built, and the directors ordered a foxy music machine last night.”