hich his
and Snorky Green's were created.

[Illustration: "Good gracious!" cried Miss Dabtree with an impetuous
lunge towards the point of attack. _Page 78_]

But immediately a terrible dilemma arose. How was he to act? In another
moment the beautiful creature so perfumingly close to him would notice
the intruder, might even retreat before the menace of more mosquitoes,
and the rapturous twilight opportunity for opening his confidence would
pass forever. His instinct was all to protect her. But how? To slap at
the insect with his cap or his hand was unthinkable. He found himself
blushing at the very thought! Yet how to warn her without acknowledging
that his attention had been concentrated on the lower graceful
silhouette? He might offend her irreparably. Even if he exclaimed, "Look
out, there's a 'skeeter,'" what would he answer if she in her innocence
should ask, "Where?"

As he debated this, hot and cold, the inevitable happened.

"Good gracious!" cried Miss Dabtree with an impetuous lunge towards the
point of attack, which made Skippy modestly avert his gaze. "This place
is filled with mosquitoes. We never can sit here!"

She rose and led the way to the parlor.

"Won't you come and wait for Arthur?"

"Thanks, thanks awfully; much obliged," said Skippy, gulping down his
disappointment. He tripped against the foot-scraper and made a mess
of opening the door for her. He wanted above all things in the world to
follow her in and be permitted just for a few more wonderful minutes to
sit and gaze at her loveliness. But to admit this was impossible.
Whatever happened, she must never suspect, never! So at loss for an
excuse he stammered, "I'd love to, but really I ought to get back for
study hour."

A moment later, having backed and scraped down the steps and thanked her
profusely for some indefinite thing for which she ought to be thanked,
he went rushing around the corner, let himself in by King Lentz's
window, and surreptitiously gained his room. At last, having torn off
the red choker tie and freed his neck, back once more to the ease of
bachelor attire, he returned wrathfully to the pest which had perhaps
saved him from his first sentimental excursion.

Sunk in a cushioned armchair, his slippered feet on the desk, a bottle
of cooling ginger pop in one hand and a cream puff in the other, he
placed before his imagination the problem:

"Why the mosquito?"

The more he pondered the more he became impressed wit