"Don't, young gents, don't!" he would plead. "Oh, my! An' to think the term's just begun!" And he mopped his brow with his red bandanna handkerchief.
"Peleg, you are getting handsomer every day," remarked Sam.
"It's a wonder you don't go into the beauty show in New York."
"Wot kind of a joke is that, Master Rover?"
"Oh, it's no joke. You are handsome. Won't you let me take your photograph?"
"Have you got a camera?"
"To be sure. Here it is." Sam drew a tiny box from his pocket.
"Now stand still and I'll take a snap shot."
Snuggers had wanted to have his picture taken for some time, to send to a certain girl in Cedarville in whom he was much interested. To have a photograph taken for nothing tickled him greatly.
"Wait till I brush up a bit," he said, and got out a pocket comb, with which he adjusted his hair and his stubby mustache.
"Now stand straight and look happy!" cried Sam as a crowd collected around. "Raise you right hand to your breast, just as all statesmen do. Up with your chin—don't drop your left eye—close your mouth. Now then, don't budge on your life!"