Cookie glanced meaningly at the attire: "Er—you ain't in th' habit of puttin' on war paint for to see Lucas, are you?"
Johnny's mental faculties produced: "Oh, we 're goin' to a dance."
"Where 'bouts?" exploded the cook.
"Way up north!" One's mind needs to be active as a flea to lie properly to a man like the cook. He had made a ghastly mistake.
"By golly! I 'll give th' boys cold grub an' go with you," and the cook began to save time.
Johnny gulped and shook his head: "Got a invite?"
Cookie caught the pan on his foot before it struck the floor and gasped: "Invite? Ain't it free-fer-all?"
"No; this is a high-toned thing-a-bob. Costs a dollar a head, too."
"High-toned?" snorted the cook, derisively. "Don't they know you? An' I thought Red was broke. Show me that permit!"
"Lucas 's got it—that's why I 've got to catch him."