"By Jove, you know!" And I just fell back in consternation. "This is awful! I'd look like a—er—dashed human cocktail. Oh, I say!"
Then Billings, who was already gasping like a jolly what's-its-name, dropped upon the arm of the chair and held his side.
"Dicky, you—you'll be the death of me yet," he panted.
I never try to follow Billings. Nobody ever does. So I paid no attention to him. Shaking his head, he lifted the garment again and held it out of the direct rays of the shaded lamp. The five buttons leaped out of the shadow like port lights down the bay on a moonless night.
He leered at me, chuckling. "Look cheap to you, eh? What you might call outré, so to speak?"
"By Jove, of course," I answered ruefully. "I can't sleep in the things now, you know. What would people say?"
Billings stared at me disagreeably a moment and said something under his breath. Then he caught up the buttons and the silk, and crushing them in his hands, buried his face in the mass.
"Oh you beauties, you darlings!" I heard him murmur.
Then he looked at the buttons again, and dash it, he kissed one. Maudlin—jolly maudlin, I say, if you ask me!
"I say, Dicky," he said carelessly. "You may not care for them, but I've taken rather a shine to these buttons. Mind letting me have one, eh?"