“I hardly know what to say. For after the way things have been stirred up here, I haven’t confidence in my judgment any more.”
“Which means ‘yes,’ huh?”
“But can you really do it?” came doubtfully.
“Leave it to old Poppy,” I bragged, slapping my chum on the back. “He’s clever.”
“I won’t feel clever,” the other suffered in advance, “with petticoats on.”
“You’ll make a swell flapper,” I stepped around.
Oh, boy, I kept thinking to myself, wasn’t I the lucky little thing that it wasn’t me.
He gritted his teeth.
“Jerry, if you ever tell about this at home!... Gr-r-r-r!”
Cornering old Goliath, whose hair, you’ll remember, hung to his shoulders, we got busy on him with a pair of shears. He didn’t mind. When we got through with him he looked like a bald-headed convict.