"Hanging about and philandering, that's what
they want," he said to his cousin Ned.
"I suppose it is," said Ned. "I was fond of a girl once myself, and I
hung about a good deal. But we hadn't sixpence between us."
"That was Polly Maxwell. I remember. You behaved very badly then."
"Very badly, Tom; about as bad as a man could behave,--and she was as
bad. I loved her with all my heart, and I told her so. And she told
me the same. There never was anything worse. We had just nothing
between us, and nobody to give us anything."
"It doesn't pay; does it, Ned, that kind of thing?"
"It doesn't pay at all. I wouldn't give her up,--nor she me. She was
about as pretty a girl as I remember to have seen."
"I suppose you were a decent-looking fellow in those days yourself.
They say so, but I never quite believed it."
"There wasn't much in that," said Ned. "Girls don't want a man to be
good-looking, but that he should speak up and not be afraid of them.
There were lots of fellows came after her. You remember Blinks, of
the Carabineers.
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