''
The Rube drew a long, deep breath and held out
his hand. I sensed another stage in the evolution
of Whit Hurtle.
``I reckon I've taken baseball coachin','' he said
presently, ``an' I don't see why I can't take some
other kind. I'm only a rube, an' things come hard
for me, but I'm a-learnin'.''
It was about dark when we arrived at the house.
``Hello, Connie. You're late. Good evening,
Mr. Hurtle. Come right in. You've met Miss
Nan Brown? Oh, of course; how stupid of me!''
It was a trying moment for Milly and me. A
little pallor showed under the Rube's tan, but he
was more composed than I had expected. Nan
got up from the piano. She was all in white and
deliciously pretty. She gave a quick, glad start
of surprise. What a relief that was to my
troubled mind! Everything had depended upon
a real honest liking for Whit, and she had it.
More than once I had been proud of Milly's
cleverness, but this night as hostess and an
accomplice she won my everlasting admiration.
She contrived to give the impression that Whit
was a frequent visitor at her home and very
welcome. She brought out his best points, and in her
skillful hands he lost embarrassment and awkwardness.
Before the evening was over Nan regarded
Whit with different eyes, and she never
dreamed that everything had not come about
naturally.
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