"Any girl in Kenny's life would be beautiful or she wouldn't be there." As for Kenny, his path was pleasant, as it always was.

If a waving arm was not bidding for his attention, it was a laughing hail or a hearty hand upon his shoulder.

His bright dark face sparkled with the zest of popularity.
Joan thought him as care-free as a boy.
"We dance in the club gallery," he told her, smiling at the look of wonder in her eyes.
"And the paintings and sculpture ?" "A members' exhibition.

The sculptured lion staring from his pedestal at us is Jan's.

Look at the superb muscle play of his flank! The midsummer woods--see, how well the lad has painted _air_!--is Garry's.
And my pine picture's over there." "And Sid ?" Kenny danced her the length of the gallery.