"He's got it bad this time," said Snorky, remembering that they had a reputation as lady-killers to maintain.
"If you will associate with 'em, it's bound to happen," said Finnegan in his rapid fire style. "I know the symptoms. My brother Pat went maudlin, when he was just Skippy's age. Ten years of it, presents Christmas and birthdays, flowers twice a month, postage stamps and letter paper, weekly bulletins and all that sort of rot! Ten years, and then he married a girl, best friend stuff, trust you together and all that—married her a month after he met her. Think of the expense. Not for me, old top—my money goes for race horses."
"You've nothing to worry over, you wild Irishman," said Snorky, who felt a certain presumption in this lesson.
"Casting aspersions? Oh, I don't know! I may not be beautiful, but women, proud women, have sighed as I passed."
"Run away," said Snorky impatiently.
"I was just going," said Dennis with dignity. At the door he paused for a parting shot. "Hard luck, old gormandizer. There won't be so many midnight spreads for you, now. Cut down the jiggers, shut up the pantry, tighten the belt! Skippy'll need his money for other things. Thank the Lord the only thing he can get into of mine, is a necktie. Hard luck!"
Perhaps a little of the practical reactions had occurred to Snorky, for he flung a shoe at the diminutive Finnegan and was still in a brown study when Skippy came in.
"If he starts to wash he's in love. Bet that's why he's been so friendly," he thought, waiting developments. "I thought it was queer he didn't sulk more after the big smell!"
In fact Snorky had been considerably puzzled at his roommate's actions after the fiasco of the Mosquito-Proof Socks.
"Any mail?" said Skippy nervously.