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Updated: May 13, 2025
It is quite possible that Arnold Carruth did profit unworthily by his beauty and engagingness, albeit without calculation. He was so young, it was monstrous to believe him capable of calculation, of deliberate trading upon his assets of birth and beauty and fascination. However, Johnny Trumbull, who was wide awake and a year older, was alive to the situation.
"Well, I s'pose I'll have to stand the curls and little baby stockings awhile longer," said he. "What was it you were going to tell me, Johnny?" "I am going to tell you because I know you aren't too good, if you do wear curls and little stockings." "No, I ain't too good," declared Arnold Carruth, proudly; "I ain't HONEST, Johnny." "That's why I'm going to tell you.
"You like me better than you like Arnold Carruth, don't you? He has curls and wears socks." "I don't know." "When do you think you can be sure?" "I don't know." Jim stared helplessly at little Lucy. She stared back sweetly. "Please tell me whether two and seven make six or eleven, Jim," said she. "They make nine," said Jim.
He simply had to bid his aunt Janet good night and have the watch wound, and take a fleeting glimpse of his mother at her desk and his father in his office, and go whistling to his room, and sit in the summer darkness and wait until the time came. Arnold Carruth had the hardest struggle.
But the next morning, when she must hear it! "Phronsie," said Mrs. Fisher, "come here, dear." It was after breakfast, and Phronsie was running up into the school-room. "Do you mean I am not to go to Miss Carruth?" asked Phronsie wonderingly, and fingering her books. "Yes, dear. Oh, Phronsie" Mrs. Fisher abruptly dropped her customary self-control, and held out her arms.
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