“Squeaky wing hinges,” says Marmaduke. “You should oil them.”
And, say, for a minute there, after Gridley had got the drift of that tomfool remark, I didn’t know whether he was goin’ to throw Marmaduke through the window, or have another fit. All of a sudden, though, he begins poundin’ his knee.
“By George! but that’s rich, young man!” says he. “Squeaky gulls’ wing hinges! Haw-haw! Oil ’em! Haw-haw! How did you ever happen to think of it, eh?”
“One sweetly foolish thought,” says Marmaduke. “I’m blessed with little else.”
“Well, it’s a blessing, all right,” says Gridley. “I have ’em sometimes; but not so good as that. Say, I’ll have to tell that to Gordon when he comes out. No, he wouldn’t see anything in it. But see here, Mr. Marmaduke, what have you got on for the evening, eh?”
“My tablets are cleaner than my cuffs,” says he.
“Good work!” says Gridley. “What about coming out and having dinner with me?”
“With you or any man,” says Marmaduke. “To dine’s the thing.”
With that, off they goes, leavin’ Pyramid in the gym. doorway strugglin’ with his collar. Course, I does my best to explain what’s happened.
“But who was the fellow?” says Mr. Gordon.