He stretched himself luxuriously and folded
his arms. "If Julia isn't a hundred per cent, sweeter and better and
finer than these friends of Babbie's, who go chasing about to bad plays
and read all the rottenest books that are printed," he said, "then
there's no such thing as a good woman! My little girl--I'm not half
worthy of _her_, that's the truth!"
"Hello, Jim!" said Gray Babcock, coming in from the theatre, and
stretching his long cold hands over the dying fire. "We thought you
might come in to-night. Hazzard and Tom Parley had a little party for
Miss Manning, of the 'Dainty Duchess' Company, you know--awfully pretty
girl, straight, too, they say. There were a couple of other girls, and
Roy Grinell--things were just about starting up when I came away!"
Jim rose, and kicked the scattered ends of a log toward the flame.
"I've not got much use for Hazzard," he observed, frowning.
Babcock gave a surprised and vacant laugh.
"Gosh! I thought all you people were good friends!"
"Hazzard's an ass," observed Jim irritably. "There are some things that
aren't any too becoming to college kids--however, you can forgive them!
But when it comes to an ass like Hazzard chasing to every beauty show,
and taking good little girls to supper--"
"Alice don't care a whoop what he does," Babcock remarked hastily.
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