"Greedy boy! I'm afraid you're too late. You may look," and she held out her card. Tom, with regret, saw that it contained the initials "F. L." in many places. There was only one two-step vacant. "Some one else has been greedy, too," he said as he filled in the space. "Let me see," she demanded, and she made a little pout. "How dare he think I'm going to give all those to him!" she exclaimed. "Here, Tom, let me have your pencil. I never can write with the ridiculous affairs they attach to dance programs." She used the lead vigorously on the card and then let Tom see it again. His name was in three places, and, to his surprise, on the last waltz he saw that the girl had written his initials under those of Langridge. "What does that mean?" he asked. "It means that I'm going to share the last dance with you," she almost whispered, "in memory of old times," and she nodded. "Don't forget now," and she shook her finger at him. "As if I would!" exclaimed Tom. The music began a march as the opening of the dance and the couples took their places, Langridge coming up almost on the run to claim Miss Tyler. He looked sharply at Tom. "How are you, dominie?" he asked with a nod, intended to be friendly, and then he led the girl away. Tom had no partner for the march and he stood about disconsolately until the first dance. Then he went to claim his partner, whom Jerry Jackson had secured for him, a pretty little girl in a yellow dress who was a fine dancer. "I wish you had another open date--I--er--I mean that you could give me another dance," he corrected himself quickly from the language of the ball field. "I can," she said simply, and she gave him a quick glance, for Tom was a fine dancer. He scribbled his name down and then had to relinquish her to another partner. Two dances after that, however, Tom was privileged to claim Miss Tyler. As he was leading her into the waltz Langridge came hurrying up. "I thought this was my dance, Madge--Miss Tyler," he stammered. "I wanted to vary the monotony," she said with a little laugh that had no malice in it. "How is your arm, dominie?" she asked of Tom, looking up into his face and smiling as she gave him the nickname conferred on him by Langridge. "Oh, much better," he answered. "How did you hear?" "Oh, the proverbial bird, I suppose. You had to stay away from class two weeks on account of it, didn't you?" "No," exclaimed Tom quickly, "not on _that_ account." "Oh!" she cried, struck by the change in Tom's voice. "I--I heard so." "Did Langridge tell you that?" "Yes," was her answer. "Well, it was partly on that account," and Tom turned the conversation away from what he considered a dangerous subject. If Langridge cherished any ill will toward Tom for taking away Miss Tyler the 'varsity pitcher did not show it. But Tom noticed that he was not far from the girl's side the remainder of the evening.