“Oh, you didn’t half-salute Billie!” Bingham declared, giving Morgan a push that almost drove his nose through the wood on which the portrait was drawn. “If you should plant a kiss like that on the ruby lips of your best girl she would have odious opinions of you.”
“Oh, let up!” Morgan growled. “This is too silly for anything!”
“Except freshmen!” said Bingham. “Salute the bald spot of the human billiard-cue in a respectful manner, or——”
Two or three sophomores caught Morgan by the neck and shoulders and forced his lips to the picture, and held him there, in spite of his protestations, while he kissed Billie’s bald head over and over again. When released he was mad clean through.
Starbright was pushed up to the daub, murmuring, though he was known never to drink:
“Oh, thou human punch-bowl, thou concocter of that nectar of the gods! How I love thee!”
He appeared to want to take the picture to his bosom in a rapturous embrace, but was dragged back.
“Thou varlet!” cried Ready, pleased with Starbright’s apparent nonchalance, which was in such marked contrast to Morgan’s fuming rage. “Avaunt, there! A dog is not privileged to embrace a king!”
“The dog was merely trying to bite him!” chattered Bingham.
“Your pardon!” said Starbright. “The dog mistook his baldness for a link of sausage!”