“What’s the matter—Jim?” I asked, from my seat near the window.
“Got a date on, that’s what,” he answered, half smothered in his trunk. “Miss Ebberd’s going—church—with me. Lucky—duck, that’s what! Going down the board walk to—New Light revival! Say,” he interrupted, holding up for my inspection a black, puff tie, with an opal stone nesting in the midst of its folds, “How would this go with a choker collar, Priddy?”
“Put it on first, Thropper,” I suggested.
He fastened it around his high choker collar: a collar whose pointed fronts might have been successfully used by Spanish Inquisitors to make heretics look up continually unless they wished to have holes punctured under their chins.
“The reason I wear this tie,” said Thropper, confidentially, “is because it blocks up my shirt bosom; hides it and saves washing, of course. You’ve got to get on to all those sort of tricks when you work your way through school, you’ll find, Priddy. Now, how do I look, eh?”
I thought him a very attractive Lothario indeed, although I did not venture so far with an expression of opinion. I merely said,
“You look slick!”
As he was leaving the room, Thropper suddenly turned and in a very apologetic tone said,
“I had planned, Priddy, to stay with you tonight, but you see how it is, don’t you, old fellow?”
“Why, certainly,” I agreed. “I wouldn’t like to have you miss this chance for anything, Thropper. Go ahead and good luck!”