"The bon-tons never broke any records in the beauty line," replied the Watermelon. "And the bon-tonnier they are, the uglier."
"Beauty," said James with charming naiveté, "runs in my family."
"It went so fast in the beginning then, yer family never had a chance to catch up," returned the Watermelon. "We'll have a beauty show, just us two."
Inspired by the thought, he sat up to explain, and Mike opened his eyes long enough to look each over with slow scornful derision and a mocking grunt.
James fondled the short stiff hair on his cheeks and chin and waited for developments.
The Watermelon went on. "We will meet this afternoon, here, see? Shaved and with decent duds on. And Mike can pick the winner."
"Mike! He can't tell a sick cat from a well one."
"That's all right. He knows enough to tell the best lookin' one between you and me. A blind mug could do that."
"But—"
"We haven't any one else, you mutt. We can't have too much publicity in this show. I dislike publicity any way, at any time, and especially when I have on clothes, borrowed, as you might say, for the occasion. If the gang was here, we could take a vote, but seein' that they ain't, we got to do with what we got."