“Then you will have a den!” declared Ricky. “Got any photos?”
“Photos?” queried Joe wonderingly.
“Yes—girls? You ought to see my collection! Some class, believe me; and more than half were free-will offerings,” and Ricky drew himself up proudly in his role of a lady-killer.
“Where’d you get the others?” asked Spike.
“Swiped ’em—some I took from my sister. They’ll look swell when I get ’em up. Well, I’m getting chilly!” he added, and it was no wonder, for his legs were partly bare. “See you later!” and he slid out of the door.
“Nice chap,” commented Joe.
“Rather original,” agreed Spike Poole. “I guess he’s in the habit of doing things. But say, I’m keeping you up with my talk, I’m afraid.”
“I guess it’s the other way around,” remarked Joe, with a smile.
“No, go ahead, and stick up all the trophies you like. I’ll help out to-morrow.”
“Oh, well, I guess this’ll do for a while,” said Joe a little later, when he had partly emptied his trunk. “I think I’ll turn in. I don’t know how I’ll sleep—that Welsh rabbit was a bit more than I’m used to. So if I see my grandmother in the night——”