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 FLAMING

YOUTH

96

Voices, unmuffled by any considerations of caution, came clearly to them. “Quelque chick, what!” “Pll telephone Mars that she is! And coming every minute.” “Too easy, say I. You can hug her to a peak.” “Something to hug, too, that little Treechie. She’s got a teasin’ little way with her.” “Guess she teases herself as much as she teases the other feller.” “That teasing game is likely to be double-barrelled,” put in a deeper voice. “What was it the old woman in that play said about the flapper? ‘Precarious virginity.

Pretty wise, that.” “It might also be wise,” cut in Cary Scott’s chiselling voice, “for you gentlemen to air your opinions in some less public spot.” “Oh, Gawd!” said one of the voices.

that?” another.

“Le’s beat it,” a third.

‘Who the devil’s

The footsteps

shudded away. “Chivalrous young America!” commented Scott to Pat. “A companion piece to sisterly loyalty.” He had meant to sting her, but he was amazed at the spasmodic constriction of the face which she turned to him. He had not expected that she would be so much affected by anything he could say; in fact, he had reckoned her rather a thick-skinned and insensitive little person. But now her eyes were set, and her cheeks sallow with ebbing blood. “The girl they were discussing,” he pursued, with a view to giving her time for recovery from his too successful stab, “is presumably some man’s sister; perhaps

the sister of one of their friends. here——”

If he had been sitting