When Skippy directly after supper bolted to his room and began to scrub for the superlative toilette, after collecting a pair of kid gloves from Butcher Stevens and a purple tie from Dennis de Brian de Boru, Snorky Green was finally convinced that matters had reached a serious pass.
"I thought you were in New York," he said, remembering Skippy's previous declaration.
"What? Oh yes!" Skippy, whose mind was not on consistency, hastily caught himself. "Oh, Tina! She came down to meet me."
"What in the mischief are you up to now?"
"For the love of Pete don't bother me," said Skippy. "Tell you later. Honest, Snorky, it's serious, and I'm in a devil of a hurry."
He struggled into his best pair of low blacks, and suddenly a new perplexity arose. What would they look like after five miles tramp through the fields and the dust? Yet if he openly pocketed a shoebrush and cloth, how explain this to the ever-incredulous Snorky? The window was open. He simulated a final polish and profiting by a favorable moment tossed the brush and cloth out into the dark. Then he stationed himself before the mirror for the final struggle to achieve a part.
"Looks like last year's toothbrush," said Dennis de Brian de Boru, via the transom, his usual defensive position.
"Looks like the home rooster when the imported bantam has left," said Snorky.
"Looks like a cat that's walked in the mucilage."
"That'll be quite enough," said Skippy, whose patience was evaporating.