“Called!” grunted Ross. “I couldn’t make a call any more than a cow. What’d I say? What’d I do? I can behave all right when you just go to people’s houses—but a call!” Abner hesitated. Should he give away his brilliant inside information, drawn from the _Hints and Helps_ book, and be rivalled in the glory of his manners and bearing? Why should he not pass on alone, perfectly composed, and reap the field of glory unsupported? His knees gave way and he sat down without intending it. “Don’t you tell anybody and I’ll put you on to exactly what grown-up gentlemen say and do when they go calling on the girls,” he began. “Fire away,” retorted Ross, gloomily. “Nobody will find out from me. Dead men tell no tales. If I’m fool enough to go, I don’t expect to come out of it alive.” Abner rose, white and shaking, and thrusting three fingers into the buttoning of his vest, extending the other hand like an orator, proceeded to instruct the freckled, perspiring disciple at his feet. “‘Hang your hat on the rack, or give it to a servant.’” Ross nodded intelligently. He could do that. “‘Let your legs be gracefully disposed, one hand on the knee, the other—’” Abner came to an unhappy pause. “I forget what a fellow does with the other hand. Might stick it in your pocket, loudly, or expectorate on the carpet. Indulge in little frivolity. Let a rich stream of conversation flow.’” Ross mentally dug within himself for sources of rich streams of conversation. He found a dry soil. “What you goin’ to talk about?” he demanded, fretfully. “I won’t go a step farther till I know what I’m goin’ to say when I get there.” Abner began to repeat paragraphs from _Hints and Helps_. “‘‘It is best to remark,’” he opened, in an unnatural voice, “‘‘How well you are looking!’ although fulsome compliments should be avoided. When seated ask the young lady who her favorite composer is.’” “What’s a composer?” inquired Ross, with visions of soothing-syrup in his mind. “A man that makes up music. Don’t butt in that way; you put me all out—‘‘composer is. Name yours. Ask her what piece of music she likes best. Name yours. If the lady is musical, here ask her to play or sing.’” This chanted recitation seemed to have a hypnotic effect on the freckled boy; his big pupils contracted each time Abner came to the repetend, “Name yours.” “I’m tired already,” he grumbled; but some spell made him rise and fare farther. When they had entered the Claiborne gate, they leaned toward each other like young saplings weakened at the root and locking branches to keep what shallow foothold on earth remained. “You’re goin’ in first,” asserted Ross, but without conviction. It was his custom to tear up to this house a dozen times a week, on his father’s old horse or afoot; he was wont to yell for Champe as he approached, and quarrel joyously with her while he performed such errand as he had come upon; but he was gagged and hamstrung now by the hypnotism of Abner’s scheme.