“She is too un-adiposed, if you like it better.  Not to put to fine a point upon it, as Mr. Snagsby used to say—­she’s too thin.”

“Not faults in either of them beyond repair,” commented Jack.  “Cora is very keen about them.  Thinks they’re the best ever.  She is very much interested in them.”

“How about Jack?” teased Ed.  “He might have a perfectly pardonable interest in being Interested in the twins—­solely on his sister’s account, however—­solely an the part of his sister.”

“Um!” murmured Jack.  “That’s neither here nor there.  To carry it a little further, and still discussing the twins, there is Ed Foster, who is always at college when he is not fishing.  He has money to burn, and so he’s going to set fire to some of it by entrusting it to the New City Bank.

“Not quite money to burn,” said Ed as he carefully threw out the baited hook again.  “I’ve about twenty thousand dollars that came from father’s estate, and it is stipulated that it must be most carefully secured.  I think the new bank a good investment.  But as for that being a drawing-card in my favor, why look to yourself.  Here’s Jack Kimball,” went on Ed, “the best musician at Exmouth.  The girls’ pet, and, altogether, a very nice boy.  I believe that’s all—­no, hold on.  I never said a word about your weakness for chicken potpie, although you did appropriate my dish the last day at college.”

“I was hungry,” pleaded Jack.  “But I thank you for your considerate description.  Do you think that you now have the Chelton folks to rights?”

“We haven’t touched on Walter Pennington.  He seems to be the whole thing with the girls,” and Ed did not try to disguise his tone of sarcasm.

“Oh, yes—­Walter,” said Jack.  “Oh, Walter’s all right.  He seems to have more time to spend fussing around the girls than the rest of us have.”

“Is that it?” asked Ed.  “I thought it was the other way about.  That the girls had more time for Walter than for the rest of us.”

“I don’t pretend to understand you,” remarked Jack, pulling up quickly and looking in disgust at his empty hook.  “But if you want anything—­why, go in and win, as Priscilla said to John Alden.  You can beat Walter—­you’re handsomer.”

“Drop that!” cried Ed, looking for a clod of earth to throw at Jack.  Then he ran his fingers through his thick, black hair.  He was handsome, but he did not like it “cast up to him.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he murmured after a pause.  “Walter has a way with him.  Girls ‘perfectly love’ that uncertain shade of hair.  It’s capable of being made over to suit—­”

“Knocking!” cried Jack.  “You’re knocking!  I’ll tell Walter.  You called him a—­”

“A first-rate chap, and I mean it!” insisted Ed warmly.  “That’s just what I think of Walter Pennington.”

“Well, you know what I’ve always thought of him,” and Jack was equally enthusiastic.  “Walter is the kind of a fellow that will keep without canning.”