"Why, do you know," she said, looking at me earnestly, "when I was home for the holidays--" Then she paused. "Don't tell Brother Jack I told you this--will you, Mr. Lightnut? He's so sensitive about it." "Certainly not," I said feelingly. I thought the wistful face brightened. "Well, when I was home, then, I put Brother Jack under the table two nights running; and you know that's going some!" And smiling proudly, she poured out another! But not any more, for I put away the decanter. My brain was reeling, as they say in books; dash it, I was almost sick. Poor, poor little girl! And nobody to remonstrate with her. What a shame--what a shame! By Jove, I wondered if she would listen to me! I fixed my glass resolutely as we resumed our seats, and bent toward her earnestly. "May I say something very seriously, Miss Billings?" I began nervously. "Without offense, you know--" But she was off in a fit of chuckling. Most girls giggled, I had always heard, but she chuckled. Somehow, I liked it less than anything she did; it sounded so devilish ghastly, you know. And then it was so awfully embarrassing--oh, awfully. If you've never tried to remonstrate with a girl about her vicious habits and had her chuckle, you just can't imagine! I felt my cheeks flushing jolly red and looked down, and then I had to look somewhere else quickly, for I seemed to be staring rudely at the ends of the pajamas, where her feet, as the poet chap says, "like little mice, stole in and out--" only, in this case, they were thrust into bedroom slippers, that looked oddly like a pair of my own--but miles and miles smaller. "Say, do you know," she was chortling, "the way you do get off that Willie boy sort of talk--oh!" And she placed her hand to her side as she laughed. "I can see how Jack thinks you're the greatest ever, Mr. Lightnut." She leaned forward eagerly. "Look here, I do _wish_ you would let me call you 'Dicky.'" "Oh, I say--will you?" exploded from my mouth. "_Will_ I?" Her look made my blood leap. "You just watch me--_Dicky_! Oh, say, this is great; maybe it won't take a fall out of old Jack--always bragging that you allow only two or three to call you that." "I hope you will always call me Dicky," I said--and said it very softly. By Jove, I could hardly keep from taking her hand! "You bet I think it's awfully good of you, Lightnut--I mean, Dicky." Then her face grew pensive. "Say, do you know, I need a friend like you--just now, I mean--oh, worst kind." "Do you?" I said eagerly, and hitched nearer. She proceeded: "Haven't you had things sometimes you wanted to talk about to somebody--well, things you couldn't just tell to your brother or sisters--oh, nor even your room-mate? _You_ understand." I wasn't sure that I did, for she was blushing furiously, and in her eyes was an appeal.