Kansas University Weekly.
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of the topmost branch, it spat back defiance at the discomfited enemy on the ground below. The genuine rabbit had passed by me almost unnoticed, while I watched the antics of a stray cat. ___ E. G.
A Fresh Catch.
Whaley was a graceful young chap about nineteen or twenty. He was slender and of medium height. His face was pink and white and soft and smooth and looked as though it smelt of good soap and French powder. His hair was soft and yellow, and one little tress persisted in falling over his forehead into his left eye, which accounted for a characteristic little shake of his head, meant to put the stray lock into its proper place again. His nose and mouth had pretty curves, just as the nose and mouth of a grown up cherub should have.
Had he been a girl away at a boarding school and far from the influence of his own sweet mother, the preceptress would doubtless have called him to the privacy of her boudoir and told him kindly but firmly that it was bad taste to paint one's cheeks. Then, like a dear young girl, he would first have denied the accusation, sobbed a little and finally promised never, never to do it again. But as he was not a girl, and really did not paint, the boys simply dubbed him "Peaches and Cream," and called him similar other epithets that were harmless but full of meaning.
His tastes were quiet and refined, and his clothes showed this; but for all that there was the air of a would-be sport about his neck-ties and fancy waistcoats. When he walked he took long slow strides that gave his shoulders a slight swagger. Wealthy cousin George, who went to Princeton, and knew a lot about the world, did this, and Whaley admired it. When he was self-possessed his voice was full and well modulated, but when he grew angry or excited it would break in the middle and cause the poor boy to turn very red, and spend his nickels for cough drops.
Among the fellows he used much slang; and had "daring" and "devilish" ideas about things, and a manly way of filling his pipe and
blowing out big rings of smoke that would curl and wind about his head, making a soft white halo. When with the girls,—mark the transition—he was their humble servant, their abject admirer, their courteous follower, partly because he thought all these to be proper, and partly because he had been taken up by the older girls—young ladies twenty-five or thirty—who liked his freshness and were amused by the contrasts of his manner, that had at times the boldness of a man of the world, and at times the timidity of a kindergartner.
Twenty years later there came into existence a legend. It was short and full of meaning and meant to warn the audacious youths of the twentieth century. It was a rumor about a young lady—a certain Miss Fisher—who, as her name might indicate, was fond of angling. Nobody knew how old she was, nobody really cared. Even half a dozen pretty youths that used to follow her around as if tied to her apron strings. never gave the matter a thought. One day Miss Fisher threw out her line, with a tempting bait on the long hook. Five different times it was bitten, but being a fastidious young lady, she flung her catches back again into their world, and sat and waited with a far away dreamy look in her large dark eyes. Time went slowly, but later on, a certain small Whaley swallowed the bait, was taken in, and was accepted * * * and * * * now * * * the matrimonial market has two Whaleys, and the junior Whaley is a Jonah.
JOSEPHINE SHELLABARGER.
A Summer Flirtation.
During several years of my young manhood I was the rector of a prosperous little church in a thriving western town. One summer after an unusually hard year's work my congregation granted me a vacation and I decided to return to the East, to summer once more at dear old Newport. As the train neared my destination visions of my college days danced before my memory. How much a summer at Newport had meant to me then! Could it be the same now—the gay yachting parties, morning strolls