Why, I wanted you to be the lucky boy. . . . Tell me, who went up to Georgiana? Was it Bid Hatfield?”

“Yes, it was, an’ she told him she’d prefer to go with him. Right before Wess an’ the boys an’ everybody! That’s what’s so bad. Why, teacher, you don’t know the West. I’ll never live that down. It’s only fair to say Hatfield was first to show your sister courtesy. But I was locoed, I tell you. . . . Oh, I’ve made a mess of it. . . . Teacher, I’ve told her she’d better go home with Wess—that if she goes with Hatfield it might make bad feelin’ for you.”

“Cal, my sister is coming home with you” declared Miss Stockwell, in a voice Cal well remembered. “Call her to the phone.”

Thus admonished, Cal turned away, smarting and tingling from the forced expression of his feelings. He almost bumped into Georgiana, who evidently had been standing there. The pertness had gone from her face. She looked perturbed, and her eyes met his rather questioningly.

“Your sister wants to speak to you,” said Cal, motioning toward the telephone.

The girl ran, and snatching up the receiver she stood on her tiptoes. “Hello—hello! This is Georgie. . . . Yes! Yes! Oh, Mary—Sister—I’m wild with joy! I’m here—out West—will see you soon. I’ve so much to tell you—and presents from Mother—everybody.”

Cal felt a singular break in his abject misery, and it came through the sweet, low, broken voice of the girl. It struck strangely on his sensitive ear.

“Yes, Mary, I hear you—I’ll listen,” went on the girl, eagerly. At that Cal halted, half turned, and watched the slim slender form strained up before the telephone.