“You can hear those socks as far as you can get a glimpse of them,” remarked Andy.
“And look at his hat,” observed Frank. It was a straw affair, of rough braid, and the brim was in three thicknesses or “layers” so that it looked not unlike one of those cocoanut custard cakes with the cocoanut put in extremely thick. In addition to this Chet’s tie was of vivid blue with yellowish dots in it, and he carried a little cane, which he swung jauntily.
As Chet passed the clam wagon, manned by Bob, who was dressed in his oldest garments, as befitted his occupation, one of the bivalves slipped from the shovel, and hit on the immaculate tan ties of the Harbor View dude. It left a salt water mark.
“Look here, Bob Trent! What do you mean by that?” demanded Chet indignantly as he took out a handkerchief covered with large green checks and wiped off his shoe. “How dare you do such a thing?”
“What did I do?” asked the clammer innocently, for he had not seen the accident.
“What did you do? I’ll show you! I’ll teach you to spoil a pair of new shoes that cost me two dollars and thirty-five cents! I’ll have you arrested if that spot doesn’t come out, and you’ll have to pay for having them cleaned, too.”
“I—I—” began Bob, who was a lad never looking for trouble, “I’m sorry—I—”
“Say, it’s you who ought to be arrested, Chet!” broke in Andy, coming to the relief of his chum.
“Me? What for, I’d like to know?” asked the dude, as he finished polishing the tan ties with the brilliant handkerchief.
“Why you’re dressed so ‘loud’ that you’re disturbing the peace,” was the laughing reply. “You’d better look out.”