Skippy Bedelle Part 37

"Right where the chicken met the axe," said Skippy, who began to whistle a melancholy tune as he gathered up the scattered greenbacks. "Here comes mother."

"Let's beat it," said Snorky, who felt a sudden need for a purer atmosphere.

"You know women better than I do," said Skippy, who though a chum was human.

"d.a.m.n them all," said Snorky, peering over the railing into the night and exposing his forehead to the cooling breeze. "But why the devil did she lead me on?"

CHAPTER x.x.x

EXPERIMENTS IN A DRESS SUIT

WHEN they descended at the Southampton station the family coach was in waiting. They surrendered their valises to the footman while each clung tightly to a large square paper box, carefully protected and corded.

"Gee, it'll just about knock the wind out of old Caroline," said Snorky in a whisper.

"Don't they suspect?" said Skippy nervously.

"Not for a minute. Say, I'd never have the nerve to sport it alone."

"Have you got the box with the s.h.i.+rt studs in?" said Skippy fidgeting.

"Why I handed it--"

"That's so. They're here," said Skippy, after a dip into four pockets.

At the thought that at last after sixteen long and eventful years the supreme moment had come when he would step out of the sh.e.l.l of adolescence and greet the waiting world in his first forty-dollar, custom-made dress suit, in high collar, white stiff bosom, two tails pendant, Skippy s.h.i.+vered slightly and drew a deep, delightfully terrified breath.

"We'll put it over all right," he said loudly, and he began to whistle as is the instinct of boyhood, whether facing the possibility of a parental caning; s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up courage to ring her doorbell; or turning a gloomy corner in the moonlight where something horrid and shapeless may be lurking.

Twenty minutes later, as he was solicitously examining the crease in the soft lovely black trousers, after hanging the swallow-tailed coat over a padded hanger, Snorky came in with a face of thunder.

"Well, what _do_ you think?" he said nervously.

"They forgot to put in the pants," said Skippy, leaping to the worst.

"Shucks, no. There's a party on to-night."

"A party?"

"There'll be millions of people to dinner and a dance after."

"What of it?" said Skippy loudly, though the chill began to ascend from his feet.

"My Lord--"

"Say, you're not losing your nerve, you chicken-hearted rabbit, are you?" said Skippy, who was now absolutely terrified.

"You mean you're game?"

"Snorky! I wouldn't have believed it of you!"

"Say, it isn't your family or your sister," said Snorky angrily. "My aunt's cat's pants, how they'll howl!"

Skippy prepared for the great event by what would have sufficed for a European semi-annual immersion and, emerging spotless and stainless from the bath, with his derby closely pressed over the niceties of his parted hair, perceived that he had still forty-two minutes left of the hour and a half he had allotted to this supreme toilette.

"My Lord, I hope I've got everything," he said, standing in diaphanous contemplation. The one thing that worried him a little was the studs.

They had looked over twenty different varieties, flat ones and solid gold ones, spirals, encrusted studs, and studs that anch.o.r.ed with a queer twist. Finally they had allowed themselves to be persuaded by a flashy clerk and settled on a patent imitation pearl stud that pushed in and stuck, simplest thing in the world, like the click of a spring lock; that would leave the beautiful creamy white expanse of s.h.i.+rt absolutely unruffled by any preliminary struggle.

"Shall I try 'em on first?" he thought, glancing down at the immaculate bosom. But at this moment a voice behind him cried pompously.

"Old top. Cast your eye on this."

Skippy gazed and his courage rose. His private opinion was that Snorky looked like a French butcher going to a morning wedding in hired regalia.

"The suit's a lalapazooza!" he said carefully.

"It'll kill old Carrots," said Snorky, who thus referred to his sister.

"She's over the age limit now but when I pull this she'll look a grandmother! Say, look me over. Make sure there are no tags or price marks. All right?"

"Jim dandy."

He went two steps to the door and turned.

"Say, remember one thing. Keep your fists out of your trousers pockets, Bo. That's important."

"Why so?"

"Ignoramus," said Skippy, reproachfully. "That'll give the whole game away. You never stick your hands in your trousers pockets unless you're a greenhorn."

"How do the s.h.i.+rt studs work?" said Skippy, nervously.

"Simplest things in the world."

"Say, Snorky?"

"Well?"

"These coat tails have got pockets in them."

"Sure they have, you chump! They're to hide your mawlers in."

"Don't be so bright," said Skippy indignantly. "But what _do_ we put into them, then?"

"Handkerchief."