Thereupon they went to work and rigged the old lady out. She was certainly a sight, for she stood by her own bonnet, and that failed to jibe with the goggles.
Burnett was summoned in to view the proceedings, but just as he caught the first glimpse he was taken with a fearful cramp in his broken ribs and was forced to beat the hastiest sort of a retreat.
“I hope he’ll get over it and be able to go out with us,” said Aunt Mary anxiously.
“I guess he’ll recover,” Jack yelled cheerfully. “Oh, there’s Clover!”
A sort of dull, ponderous panting sounded in the street without, and let all the neighbors know that “The Threshing Machine” (as Clover had christened his elephantine toy) was waiting for someone.
Its owner came in for a stirrup cup; Mitchell was with him. Both were togged out as if entered for the annual Paris-Bordeaux.
Burnett brought out the cut-glass jugs.
“Ye gods and little fishes! Sapristi! Sacre bleu!” he said to his friends. “Just you wait till you see our Aunt Mary!”
“Has she got ’em all on?” Clover asked.
“Has she got ’em all on!” said Burnett. “She has got ’em all on; and how Jack held his own in the room with her I cannot understand. I took one look, and if mine had been a surgical case of stitches the last thread would have bust that instant. I don’t believe I dare go out with you. This is a life and death game to Jack, and I won’t risk smashing his future by not being able to keep sober in the face of Aunt Mary.”