“I haven’t said I’d go,” Sydney broke in.
“Oh, yes, you have. You’re not the laddie to spoil the Queen’s evening by breaking up the quartette, the feature she’s most counting on, she says.”
“If I go will you help me to ask a question of Bess?”
“Sure, what is it?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
Billy did not misjudge his friend, though he could have no conception of the agony of bashfulness Sydney endured at merely the thought of meeting a lot of girls in their evening frocks.
“You know I’ve no glad rags for evening, Billy.”
“No matter. You have good enough. None of us are going in for opera hats and patent leathers; that is, only the Fussers. Will you come to dinner with me tonight and stay for rehearsal?”
“All right. Thank you. Say, Billy! Hello, Billy!”