[Illustration: "I received the football in the pit of my stomach."]
"I quite agree," I said, mildly, as I unwound my comforter, "that your
course of studies seems to suit you remarkably well. Quite a bevy of
female admirable CRICHT--!"
The effect was immediate; an unmistakable rush of lexicons--or were
they Todhunters?--hurtled around my devoted head from the fair hands
of disturbed and ruffled girlhood.
"Pray don't mention that person again!" said my fair-haired
interlocutor, and I thought I wouldn't.
"Well, but," I began, with heroic daring, as I laid aside my
respirator, "as to weak _chests_ now?"
I was interrupted by a paroxysm of coughing, which I tried to explain,
as my young friends thumped my back with unnecessary zeal, was, owing
to my having imprudently ventured out without my chest-protector. As
soon as I was able, I feebly hazarded the suggestion that, for growing
girls, the habit of stooping over their books seemed calculated to
induce weakness in the lungs--but their roars of merriment at the idea
instantly convinced me that any uneasiness on this score was entirely
superfluous.
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