Mrs. Wyeth saw to that; probably not so often as he would have liked; but he did call and the acquaintanceship developed into friendship. That it might develop into something more than friendship no one, except possibly the sentimental Miss Pease, seemed to suspect. Certainly Mary did not, and at this time it is doubtful if Crawford did, either. He liked Mary Lathrop. She was a remarkably pretty girl but, unlike other pretty girls he had known--and as good-looking college football stars are privileged beyond the common herd, he had known at least several--she did not flirt with him, nor look admiringly up into his eyes, nor pronounce his jokes "killingly funny," nor flatter him in any way. If the jokes WERE funny she laughed a healthy, genuine laugh, but if, as sometimes happened, they were rather feeble, she was quite likely to tell him so. She did not always agree with his views, having views of her own on most subjects, and if he asked her opinion the answer he received was always honest, if not precisely what he expected or hoped.
"By George! You're frank, at any rate," he observed, rather ruefully, after asking her opinion as to a point of conduct and receiving it forthwith.
"Didn't you want me to be?" asked Mary. "You asked me what I thought you should have done and I told you."
"Yes, you did. You certainly told me."
"Well, didn't you want me to tell you?"
"I don't know that I wanted you to tell me just that."
"But you asked me what I thought, and that is exactly what I think.
Don't YOU think it is what you should have done?"
Crawford hesitated; then he laughed. "Why yes, confound it, I do," he admitted. "But I hoped you would tell me that what I did do was right."
"Whether I thought so or not?"
"Why--well--er--yes. Honestly now, didn't you know I wanted you to say the other thing?"
It was Mary's turn to hesitate; then she, too, laughed.
"Why, yes, I suppose--" she began; and finished with, "Yes, I did."
"Then why didn't you say it? Most girls would."
"Perhaps that is why. I judge that most girls of your acquaintance say just about what you want them to. Don't you think it is good for you to be told the truth occasionally?"
It was good for him, of course, and, incidentally, it had the fascination of novelty. Here was a girl full of fun, ready to take a joke as well as give one, neither flattering nor expecting flattery, a country girl who had kept store, yet speaking of that phase of her life quite as freely as she did of the fashionable Misses Cabot's school, not at all ashamed to say she could not afford this or that, ****** and unaffected but self-respecting and proud; a girl who was at all times herself and retained her poise and common sense even in the presence of handsome young demigod who had made two touchdowns against Yale.
It was extremely good for Crawford Smith to know such a girl. She helped him to keep his feet on the ground and his head from swelling. Not that there was much danger of the latter happening, for the head was a pretty good one, but Mary Lathrop's common sense was a stimulating--and fascinating--reenforcement to his own. As he had said on the Sunday afternoon of their first meeting in Boston, it was a relief to have someone to talk to who understood and appreciated a fellow's serious thoughts as well as the frivolous ones. His approaching graduation from Harvard and the work which he would begin at the Medical School in the fall were very much in his mind just now. He told Mary his plans and she and he discussed them. She had plans of her own, principally concerning what she meant to do to make life easier for her uncles when her school days were over, and these also were discussed.
"But," he said, "that's really nonsense, after all, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Why, the idea of your keeping store again. You'll never do that."
"Indeed I shall! Why not?"
"Why, because--"
"Because what?"
"Because--well, because I don't think you will, that's all. Girls like you don't have to keep a country store, you know--at least, not for long."
The remark was intended to please; it might have pleased some girls, but it did not please this one. Mary's dignity was offended.
Anything approaching a slur upon her beloved uncles, or their place of business, or South Harniss, or the Cape Cod people, she resented with all her might. Her eyes snapped.
"I do not HAVE to keep store at any time," she said crisply, "in the country or elsewhere. I do it because I wish to and I shall continue to do it as long as I choose. If my friends do not understand that fact and appreciate my reasons, they are not my friends, that is all."
Crawford threw up both hands. "Whew!" he exclaimed. "Don't shoot;
I'll come down! Great Scott! If you take a fellow's head off like that when he pays you a compliment what would you do if he dared to criticize?"
"Was that remark of yours intended as a compliment?"
"Not exactly; more as a statement of fact. I meant--I meant--Oh, come now, Mary! You know perfectly well what I meant. Own up."
Mary tried hard to be solemn and severe, but the twinkle in his eye was infectious and in spite of her effort her lips twitched.
"Own up, now," persisted Crawford. "You know what I meant. Now, don't you?"
"Well--well, I suppose I do. But I think the remark was a very silly one. That is the way Sam Keith talks."
"Eh? Oh, does he!"
"Yes. Or he would if I would let him. And he does it much better than you do."
"Well, I like that!"
"I don't. That is why I don't want you to do it. I expect you to be more sensible. And, besides, I won't have you or anyone ****** fun of my uncles' store."
"Making fun of it! I should say not! I have a vivid and most respectful memory of it, as you ought to know. By the way, you told me your uncles had sent you their photographs. May I see them?"
