"But the gambling?" said Miss Jennie, disengaging her hand.
"That's another promise," said Skippy, taking her hand again. "I promise for the space of one year, never to sit in a game of poker for money, never to shoot craps with Tacks Brooker or Happy Mather. . . ."
"Ith thith nethethawy?" said Miss Tupper blushing and seeking to free her hand from the not too painful embrace.
"I want to be sure of everything," said Skippy retaining tight hold. "Never to frequent race tracks, that's a promise too, or to bet on the ponies, or to go into pool rooms."
"That's quite enough," said Miss Tupper, glancing nervously up towards the veranda.
"But I haven't promised to give up drinking and all that sort of thing," said Skippy enthusiastically.
Miss Tupper, in whom a slight suspicion was beginning to grow as to the exact motives back of the sudden conversion, hesitated, but finally put forth her hand a third time.
"I promise," said Skippy, drawing a deep breath and sailing away on perfumed clouds to an invisible choir. "I want to make this something terrific; it's the most important you know. I promise for the space of one year,—so long as you care enough to answer my letters, that's only fair you know—I promise never to touch a drop of beer or ale, or whiskey, or rum, or brandy, or sherry, or port, or. . ."
"Alcohol in any form," said Miss Tupper, the color of the rambler.
"In any form. So help me God," said Skippy slowly.