When Hike was finally sufficiently awake to throw him off, Poodle discreetly barricaded himself behind an armchair, and, brandishing a pillow, shouted, “Come on, base caitiffs, I defy ye.... Say, Hike, let’s pretend we’re Boy Aviators, and that we’ve just come from the Pacific Coast in an aeroplane, and that a Brigadier General has been kow-towing to us.”
“Gee, cut it out, Poodle, you make me dizzy.”
As Hike held up his hands in a prayer for mercy, Poodle let fly the pillow, which—driven as well as the Hustle ever had been—took Hike in the face. Hike dived across the armchair. He was busy drawing stars and crosses on Poodle’s face with a lead pencil, while Poodle was dexterously kicking him, when there was a knock.
The knocker was a grinning bell-boy, about Hike’s age and build, who seemed much delighted to see the hotel’s most famous guests in much disarrayed pajamas, and acting (almost!) as though they were—well, were boys!
“Say, there’s a reporter guy downstairs that wants to interview youse. He’s a fresh un—I know him. He t’inks he’s a winner ’cause he can put down on a paper wot a guy ain’t said and draw him like he don’t look, both to once.”
“Oh, gee, I don’t want to get interviewed,” wailed Hike. “Say, can’t he interview Darby, here? Gwan, Pood’, please tell him I’ve got combobulus of the elevating planes, and my chassis is awf’ly rheumatic and generally Mr. G. J. H. Griffin begs will he please beat it.”
“Aw, Hike, I don’t want to get interviewed, neither,” blushed Poodle, pulling a magnificent new purple dressing-gown about him, and making signs of a desire to jump out of the windows.
“Say, Dr. Bell-Boy, why don’t you have him interview you, instead?” requested Hike.
The bell-boy grinned, “Oh, youse guys just wait. There’ll be a million and a half reporters here, right away. Associated Press and United Press and all the Washington papers and all the guys wot writes up what they t’ink Congress oughta be doin’, for the Kalamazoo Avalanche and the South Sauk Centre Hoop-la. Oh, dere’ll be a hot time for youse!”
“Oh, let me die,” mourned Hike, and stood on his head on a pillow, as though he were trying to choke himself.