Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Prosperity; or, Toil Has Its Reward онлайн

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“Well, I must say you are frank, to speak the least!” she exclaimed, showing her handsome, white teeth.

“I am truthful,” asserted Bart. “Others might lie about it; I tell you the simple truth.”

“And not so simple at that!”

“I have come to believe what I do about women through what I have seen of them. They have disgusted me.”

Stella stood smiling. She was two or three years older than Bart, and inwardly she was thinking that he was very young, indeed, to have and utter such opinions.

“My dear boy!” she exclaimed; “I’m sorry for you!”

“Don’t call me a boy!” panted Bart. “I don’t like it. Don’t be sorry for me. I don’t like that.”

“Well, what do you like?”

“You, you, you!” he hoarsely whispered, leaning toward her, so that she retreated a bit in sudden surprise.

“But I thought you were a woman hater?” she said, maliciously. “What is the matter with you? Why aren’t you consistent?”

“Don’t ask me to be consistent!” he exclaimed. “I tried to hate you, like all the others. I tried not to pay any attention to you. I tried to avoid you. I couldn’t do it.”