“N-not exactly. You see, I knew there was something wrong about my watch, and I could not remember whether it was thirteen minutes fast or thirteen minutes slow, so—” “But do tell us what was the most awful thing that ever happened to you, Evelyn,” cried the girl with the classic profile. “The very worst thing that ever befell me was connected with a timepiece. It was last summer, and a man who—who had been very nice to me was going away early the next morning. Men were scarce at the seashore, as you know, and when a lot of the girls saw us sitting on the porch they came over and spent the evening with us. We just could not get a chance for a word alone.” “I know—I know,” groaned the girl with the dimple in her chin. “Yes. Well, his train was to go at 5:16 A.M., and he asked me in the most meaning tone if I cared sufficiently to hear something he had to say to get up early enough to see him off. I—I said I did.” “Well?” said the girl with the Roman nose. “I set my watch by the hall clock in order to be sure of getting up in time; then I lay awake nearly all night so I would not oversleep myself. When I reached the station it was five minutes past six.” “Watch stopped?” asked the girl with the eyeglasses. “No; Harry had run down to spend that evening with Kate, and she had set the clock back. The man was married in October to one of the girls who had risen in time to see him off.” “Of course,” said the president. “Speaking of awful things—you all know how afraid I am of fire.” “We do,” said the girl with the Roman nose. “I believe you could smell a burning match a block away.” “Well, the other day our fire insurance ran out, and Tom handed me the money and asked me to go down and renew it, as he was very busy. I forgot all about it until night; then I lay awake sniffing smoke until Tom thought I had influenza again. Next morning I got ready to go and attend to it at once. I wanted to look nice, too, because one of the men in that office once told Tom that he had an awfully pretty wife.” “How much money did he borrow from Tom that time?” asked the girl with the dimple in her chin. “I was curling my hair,” went on the president, unheeding, “when I smelled fire. I ran wildly all through the house, with a curl still wrapped about the iron, trying to locate it!” “And did you find any?” asked the brown-eyed blonde. “Yes; my own hair was burning,” said the president, with a groan. “How awful!” said the girl with the eyeglasses. “That reminds me of what once happened to me. It was when I was wearing a single curl in the middle of my forehead. One day Frank was there, and he—he would twist it over his finger and quote poetry about it until he took all the curl out of it. Of course I discovered that I had no handkerchief and went up to get one.” “I don’t see anything so awful in that,” said the girl with the classic profile.