"I hate you!" she cried. "Don't you ever dare to speak to me again!"
"What?" stammered Amory.
"I'll tell mama you kissed me! I will too! I will too! I'll tell mama,
and she won't let me play with you!"
Amory rose and stared at her helplessly, as though she were a new animal
of whose presence on the earth he had not heretofore been aware.
The door opened suddenly, and Myra's mother appeared on the threshold,
fumbling with her lorgnette.
"Well," she began, adjusting it benignantly, "the man at the desk told me
you two children were up here--How do you do, Amory."
Amory watched Myra and waited for the crash--but none came. The pout
faded, the high pink subsided, and Myra's voice was placid as a summer
lake when she answered her mother.
"Oh, we started so late, mama, that I thought we might as well--"
He heard from below the shrieks of laughter, and smelled the vapid
odor of hot chocolate and tea-cakes as he silently followed mother and
daughter down-stairs. The sound of the graphophone mingled with the
voices of many girls humming the air, and a faint glow was born and
spread over him:
"Casey-Jones--mounted to the cab-un
Casey-Jones--'th his orders in his hand.
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