“She’s a very nice girl, I think,” Deering continued, showing his lathered face at the bathroom door.
He hadn’t expected Hood to betray surprise, and he was not disappointed in the matter-of-course fashion in which his companion received the invitation.
“Breakfast is the one important meal of the day,” Hood averred as he executed a series of hops in his efforts to land inside his trousers. “All great adventures should be planned across breakfast tables; centrepiece of cool fruits; coffee of teasing fragrance, the toast crisp; an egg perhaps, if the morning labors are to be severe. I know a chap in Boston who cuts out breakfast altogether. Most melancholy person I ever knew; peevish till one o’clock, then throws in a heavy lunch that ruins him for the rest of the day. What did you say the adorable’s name was?”
“Pierrette,” Deering spluttered from the tub.
“Delightful!” cried Hood, flourishing his hair-brushes. “Then you met the dancing-girl! I must say——”
“She had hung a moon in a tree! I followed the moon and found the girl!”
“Always the way; it never fails,” Hood commented, as though the finding of the girl had fully justified his philosophy of life. “But we can’t fool away much time at the bungalow; we’ve got a lot to do to-day.”
“Time!” cried Deering, “I’m going to stay forever! You can’t expect me to find a girl whose post-office address is the Little Dipper, and then go coolly off and forget about her!”
“That’s the right spirit, son,” Hood remarked cautiously; “but we’ll see. I’ll have a look at her and decide what’s best for you. My business right now is to keep you out of trouble. You can’t tell about these moon girls; she may have a wart on her nose when you see her in daylight.”
Deering hooted.