Myrtle Cass appeared, with Cy Bogart.  She giggled and bounced when Cy tickled her ear in village love.  They strolled with the half-dancing gait of lovers, kicking their feet out sideways or shuffling a dragging jig, and the concrete walk sounded to the broken two-four rhythm.  Their voices had a dusky turbulence.  Suddenly, to the woman rocking on the porch of the doctor’s house, the night came alive, and she felt that everywhere in the darkness panted an ardent quest which she was missing as she sank back to wait for——­There must be something.

CHAPTER XXVIII

It was at a supper of the Jolly Seventeen in August that Carol heard of “Elizabeth,” from Mrs. Dave Dyer.

Carol was fond of Maud Dyer, because she had been particularly agreeable lately; had obviously repented of the nervous distaste which she had once shown.  Maud patted her hand when they met, and asked about Hugh.

Kennicott said that he was “kind of sorry for the girl, some ways; she’s too darn emotional, but still, Dave is sort of mean to her.”  He was polite to poor Maud when they all went down to the cottages for a swim.  Carol was proud of that sympathy in him, and now she took pains to sit with their new friend.

Mrs. Dyer was bubbling, “Oh, have you folks heard about this young fellow that’s just come to town that the boys call ‘Elizabeth’?  He’s working in Nat Hicks’s tailor shop.  I bet he doesn’t make eighteen a week, but my! isn’t he the perfect lady though!  He talks so refined, and oh, the lugs he puts on—­belted coat, and pique collar with a gold pin, and socks to match his necktie, and honest—­you won’t believe this, but I got it straight—­this fellow, you know he’s staying at Mrs. Gurrey’s punk old boarding-house, and they say he asked Mrs. Gurrey if he ought to put on a dress-suit for supper!  Imagine!  Can you beat that?  And him nothing but a Swede tailor—­Erik Valborg his name is.  But he used to be in a tailor shop in Minneapolis (they do say he’s a smart needle-pusher, at that) and he tries to let on that he’s a regular city fellow.  They say he tries to make people think he’s a poet—­carries books around and pretends to read ’em.  Myrtle Cass says she met him at a dance, and he was mooning around all over the place, and he asked her did she like flowers and poetry and music and everything; he spieled like he was a regular United States Senator; and Myrtle—­she’s a devil, that girl, ha! ha!—­she kidded him along, and got him going, and honest, what d’you think he said?  He said he didn’t find any intellectual companionship in this town.  Can you beat it?  Imagine!  And him a Swede tailor!  My!  And they say he’s the most awful mollycoddle—­looks just like a girl.  The boys call him ‘Elizabeth,’ and they stop him and ask about the books he lets on to have read, and he goes and tells them, and they take it all in and jolly him terribly, and he never gets onto the fact they’re kidding him.  Oh, I think it’s just too funny!”