The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey. Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department. Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. He hated travelling second-class with her—indeed, he never did—but he also disliked travelling in the same train when his daughter was in an inferior class, because of the look of the thing.
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