"There'll be millions of people to dinner and a dance after."
"What of it?" said Skippy loudly, though the chill began to ascend from his feet.
"My Lord—"
"Say, you're not losing your nerve, you chicken-hearted rabbit, are you?" said Skippy, who was now absolutely terrified.
"You mean you're game?"
"Snorky! I wouldn't have believed it of you!"
"Say, it isn't your family or your sister," said Snorky angrily. "My aunt's cat's pants, how they'll howl!"
Skippy prepared for the great event by what would have sufficed for a European semi-annual immersion and, emerging spotless and stainless from the bath, with his derby closely pressed over the niceties of his parted hair, perceived that he had still forty-two minutes left of the hour and a half he had allotted to this supreme toilette.
"My Lord, I hope I've got everything," he said, standing in diaphanous contemplation. The one thing that worried him a little was the studs. They had looked over twenty different varieties, flat ones and solid gold ones, spirals, encrusted studs, and studs that anchored with a queer twist. Finally they had allowed themselves to be persuaded by a flashy clerk and settled on a patent imitation pearl stud that pushed in and stuck, simplest thing in the world, like the click of a spring lock; that would leave the beautiful creamy white expanse of shirt absolutely unruffled by any preliminary struggle.
"Shall I try 'em on first?" he thought, glancing down at the immaculate bosom. But at this moment a voice behind him cried pompously.