"I don't quite ask that," Miss Ethel laughed, "but at least keep still. Don't talk at all except to us. You can pretend you are shy."
"What did she want, Pete?" Annie inquired, with eager curiosity as he reappeared.
Peter exhibited his clothes.
"Don't speak to me so familiar! I'm Lord Kiscadden o' County Cark. Me family is straight descinded from the kings of Ireland, and I'm masqueradin' as George Washington who never told a lie."
An hour later, Peter, in knee breeches and lace ruffles, with hat comfortably cocked toward his left ear, was sitting at ease on a corner of the kitchen table, dangling two buckled shoes into space, while a cigarette emerged at an acute angle from the corner of his mouth. His appearance suggested a very rakish caricature of the immortal first President. The maids were gathered in a giggling group about the young man, when Miss Ethel and Mr. Harry, also in costume, appeared in the kitchen door. The effect on George Washington was electrical; he removed his cigarette, slid to the floor, straightened his spinal column, and awaited orders.
Mr. Harry carried a make-up box under his arm. He covered the groom's face with a layer of powder, redirected the curve of his eyebrows, added a touch of rouge, and stepped back to view the effect.
"Perfect!" cried Miss Ethel. "No one on earth would recognize him."
"Peter," Mr. Harry gravely schooled him, "these are your lines for the evening; say them after me: 'By Jove! Ripping! Oh, I say! Fancy, now!'"
Peter unsmilingly repeated his lesson.
"And no matter what anybody says to you, you are not to go beyond that. Understand?"