"Notice her?" he answered, with a touch of triumphant vanity in his manner
of speech. "I should say I did. She was there on my account. I'm going to
make a date with her for supper after the performance to-night."
Old Overfield, sitting on a trunk, stared at Bridges in surprise.
"Do you know her?" he asked.
"No," replied the leading juvenile. "That is, I have never met her, but
she's been writing me mash notes lately, asking for a meeting. In the
last one she said she could get away from her house this evening, as her
father's out of town and her mother is going over to Philadelphia this
afternoon. So she invited me to have supper with her to-night, and was good
enough to say she'd occupy that box this afternoon, so I could see what she
was like. Didn't you observe her embarrassment when I came on the stage? I
paid no attention to her first letter. But, having seen her, you bet I'll
answer the last one right away. Don't you wish you were me, old fellow?"
The old fellow stood up and looked at Bridges severely.
"Yes, I do wish I were you,--just long enough to see that you don't answer
that girl's letter.
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