He slapped me on the back. "By George, Dicky, there's just the girl cut out for you, old chap—take my tip. I think she likes you, too—could see it just now when I was talking about you."
So that was it, I reflected gloomily. The frump now was to be worked off on me, and I was expected to stand for it. I was to be a sort of what-you-call-it offering on the altar of friendship. That was the condition upon which he was patching up things!
Billings laughed suddenly. "But, oh, I tell you it would be hard on Francis—a regular knockout, by George!"
Devilish brutal for him to say so, I thought.
"Do you think so?" I questioned dismally. "Would Frances really care?"
"Oh, yes," he said lightly. "Soon get over it, though—puppy love, you know."
Puppy love, indeed! By Jove, how I hated Billings!
He went on: "Suppose you never heard anything of the professor and the pajamas?"
I had not, and I was devilish sick of pajamas, anyway.
"And say, Dicky, I don't remember that I ever thanked you properly, old man, for putting up my kid brother the other night. He says you treated him like a brick and that you and he got to be great pals. So much obliged, old chap, because he wanted to go running around, you know."