And then came the schoolma’am.  The schoolma’am’s hair was the darkest brown and had a shine to it where the light struck at the proper angle, and her eyes were large and came near being round, and they were a velvety brown and also had a shine in them.

Still Weary shied consistently and systematically.

At the leap-year ball, given on New Year’s night, when the ladies were invited to “choose your pardners for the hull dance, regardless of who brought yuh,” the schoolma’am had forsaken Joe Meeker, with whose parents she boarded, and had deliberately chosen Weary.  The Happy Family had, with one accord, grinned at him in a way that promised many things and, up to the coming of the Fourth of July, every promise had been conscientiously fulfilled.

They brought him many friendly messages from the schoolma’am, to which he returned unfriendly answers.  When he accused them openly of trying to “load” him; they were shocked and grieved.  They told him the schoolma’am said she felt drawn to him—­he looked so like her darling brother who had spilled his precious blood on San Juan Hill.  Cal Emmett was exceedingly proud of this invention, since it seemed to “go down” with Weary better than most of the lies they told.

It was the coming of the Fourth and the celebration of that day which provoked further effort to tease Weary.

“Who are you going to take, Weary?” Cal Emmett lowered his left eyelid very gently, for the benefit of the others, and drew a match sharply along the wall just over his head.

“Myself,” answered Weary sweetly, though it was becoming a sore subject.

“You’re sure going in bum company, then,” retorted Cal.

“Who’s going to pilot the schoolma’am?” blurted Happy Jack, who was never consciously ambiguous.

“You can search me,” said Weary, in a you-make-me-tired tone.  “She sure isn’t going with Yours Truly.”

“Ain’t she asked yuh yet?” fleered Cal.  “That’s funny.  She told me the other day she was going to take advantage of woman’s privilege, this year, and choose her own escort for the dance.  Then she asked me if I knew whether you were spoke for, and when I told her yuh wasn’t, she wanted to know if I’d bring a note over.  But I was in a dickens of a hurry, and couldn’t wait for it; anyhow, I was headed the other way.”

“Not toward Len Adams, were you?” asked Weary sympathetically.

“Aw, she’ll give you an invite, all right,” Happy Jack declared.  “Little Willie ain’t going to be forgot, yuh can gamble on that.  He’s too much like Darling Brother—­”

At this point, Happy Jack ducked precipitately and a flapping, four-buckled overshoe, a relic of the winter gone, hurtled past his head and landed with considerable force upon the unsuspecting stomach of Cal, stretched luxuriously upon his bunk.  Cal doubled like a threatened caterpillar and groaned, and Weary, feeling that justice had not been defeated even though he had aimed at another culprit, grinned complacently.