“Oh, for the love of tomatoes!” cried Dunk. “Have you been raiding a paint store?”
“These are all the latest shades—the fashion just over from Paris!” exclaimed Ikey, indignantly. “I bought a fellow’s stock out and I can let you have these for a quarter a pair. They’re worth fifty in any store.”
“Take ’em away!” begged Andy. “They hurt my eyes. I won’t be able to play ball to-morrow.”
“You ought to buy some—look, I have some dark blue ones,” urged Ikey, holding them up. “These are very—chaste!”
“Those aren’t so bad,” conceded Dunk, tolerantly.
“Take ’em for twenty cents,” said the student salesman, suddenly. “I need the money!”
“Tell you what I’ll do,” spoke Andy. “If we win the game to-morrow I’ll buy a dollar’s worth, provided you let us alone now.”
“It’s a bargain!” cried Ikey, gathering up the scattered socks.
“And I’ll do the same,” promised Dunk, whereupon the salesman departed for other rooms.
“Queer chap, isn’t he?” remarked Dunk, after a pause that followed Ikey’s departure.