In whispers several of the tamed girls at once heartily corroborated this statement, whereupon the newcomers ceased to gibe and consented to silence. Ramsey leaned forth over the edge of the overhanging bank, a dirt precipice five feet above the water, and peered into the indeterminable depths below. The pool had been stirred, partly by the inexpert pokings of the fishermen and partly by small clods and bits of dirt dislodged from above by the feet of the audience. The water, consequently, was but brownly translucent and revealed its secrets reluctantly; nevertheless certain dim little shapes had been observed to move within it, and were still there. Ramsey failed to see them at first. “Where's any ole fish?” he inquired, scornfully. “Oh, my goodness!” Heinie Krusemeyer moaned. “_Can't_ you shut up?” “Look!” whispered the girl who stood nearest to Ramsey. She pointed. “There's one. Right down there by Willis's hook. Don't you see him?” Ramsey was impressed enough to whisper. “Is there? I don't see him. I can't--” The girl came closer to him, and, the better to show him, leaned out over the edge of the bank, and, for safety in maintaining her balance, rested her left hand upon his shoulder while she pointed with her right. Thereupon something happened to Ramsey. The touch upon his shoulder was almost nothing, and he had never taken the slightest interest in Milla Rust (to whom that small warm hand belonged), though she was the class beauty, and long established in the office. Now, all at once, a peculiar and heretofore entirely unfamiliar sensation suddenly became important in the upper part of his chest. For a moment he held his breath, an involuntary action;--he seemed to be standing in a shower of flowers. “Don't you see it, Ramsey?” Milla whispered. “It's a great big one. Why, it must be as long as--as your shoe! Look!” Ramsey saw nothing but the thick round curl on Milla's shoulder. Milla had a group of curls on each of her shoulders, for she got her modes at the Movies and had that sort of prettiness: large, gentle, calculating eyes, and a full, softly modelled face, implacably sweet. Ramsey was accustomed to all this charm, and Milla had never before been of more importance to him than an equal weight of school furniture--but all at once some magic had enveloped her. That curl upon the shoulder nearest him was shot with dazzling fibres of sunshine. He seemed to be trembling. “I don't see it,” he murmured, huskily, afraid that she might remove her hand. “I can't see any fish, Milla.” She leaned farther out over the bank. “Why, there, goosie!” she whispered. “Right there.” “I can't see it.” She leaned still farther, bending down to point. “Why right th--” At this moment she removed her hand from his shoulder, though unwillingly. She clutched at him, in fact, but without avail. She had been too amiable.