If you do, I'll tell your pa that you're using his
razor, and--well, say, that would be a mortification for you. Miss
Fairweather would never get over laughing at you. Do you know, I'm
awfully sorry for Mr. Flanders. He is a fine fellow, and it will break
his heart if you get her away from him, Freddie. It seems too bad for
a rich young gentleman like you to be pitted against a poor,
struggling newspaper man whose heart is afire with--"
"Oh, gee, Melissa, don't talk like that," cried Frederick in distress.
"I DO like him, and I don't want him to ever be unhappy."
"That's the way to talk," she cried warmly. "That's regular nobility.
Let's give him an equal chance, Freddie. If he can win, all well and
good. We'll take our medicine. If he loses, why he can take his."
"I wish I was as old as he is," mourned Frederick.
"Poor fellow," sighed Melissa, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye.
"I DO feel sorry for him. I hate to see a fine, honourable gentleman's
heart busted as you are likely to bust his for--"
"Oh, goodness!" gulped Frederick, his soul filled with pity for the
unfortunate Flanders.
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