Then her glance lifted to the
face of Donald Whiting, one of the most brilliant and popular
seniors of the high school. Her eyes narrowed in a manner
habitual to her when thinking intently.
"Never you mind my shoes," she said deliberately. "Kindly fix
your attention on my head piece. When you see me allowing any
Jap in my class to make higher grades than I do, then I give you
leave to say anything you please concerning my head."
An angry red rushed to the boy's face. It was an irritating fact
that in the senior class of that particular Los Angeles high
school a Japanese boy stood at the head. This was embarrassing
to every senior.
"I say," said Donald Whiting, "I call that a mean thrust."
"I have a particular reason," said Linda.
"And I have 'a particular reason'," said Donald, "for being
interested in your shoes."
Linda laughed suddenly. When Linda laughed, which was very
seldom, those within hearing turned to look at her. Hers was not
a laugh that can be achieved. There were a few high places on
the peak of Linda's soul, and on one of them homed a small flock
of notes of rapture; notes as sweet as the voice of the
white-banded mockingbird of Argentina.
"How surprising!" exclaimed Linda. "We have been attending the
same school for three years; now, you stop me suddenly to tell me
that you are interested in the shape of my shoes."
"I have been watching them all the time," said Donald. 'Can't
understand why any girl wants to be so different.
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