- late syrup, and cherry. When the glass of water
had been added to the array before him and he had swallowed three spoonfuls of the satisfying medley, the stout youth sighed deeply, and his gaze went roaming to an appealing display of pastry beyond the girl.
"Guess I'll have a cream-cake," he announced. "And one of those tarts, please. What's in 'em, Polly?"
"Raspberry jam."
"Uh-huh. All right. Better make it two, then."
Polly Deane eyed him severely. "Kewpie Proudtree," she exclaimed, "you know you oughtn't to eat all this sweet stuff!"
"Oh, what's the difference?" demanded the youth morosely. "Gee, a fellow can't starve all the time! Maybe I won't go in for football next year, anyway. It's a dog's life. No desserts you can eat, no candy, no—"
"Well, I think that's a very funny way for you to talk," interrupted Polly indignantly. "After the way you played in the Farview game and everything! Why, every one said you were just wonderful, Kewpie!"
