“It’s a big responsibility to be left in charge, hain’t it?” I says.
“Oh, Skip gives me all sorts of responsibility,” says he. “He knows me.”
“I’ll bet he don’t,” says I to myself, “or he wouldn’t have you around.” But I only grinned at him admiringly. “Say,” I told him, “them clothes of yourn wasn’t just bought, was they? They look different. Bet a real tailor made ’em.”
“Course,” says he. “I couldn’t wear store clothes. Man in my position has to look swell.”
“You do it, all right,” says I. Then I got an idea. “Are you figgerin’ on winnin’ the contest?”
“What contest?”
“Handsomest man in Wicksville,” says I. “Everybody’s votin’.”
“Oh, that,” says he. “No. I dassent be in that? Boss wouldn’t like it.”
“Shucks!” says I. “You ought to enter. You’d win easy.”
He took another look at himself in the glass and didn’t seem disappointed by what he saw.