Bucky returned a few minutes later in his gipsy uniform, with a deprecating grin.
“I’ll have to stain your face. Then you’ll do very well,” said Frank, patting and pulling at the clothes here and there. “It’s a good fit, if I do say it that chose it. The first thing you want to do when you get out in it is to roll in the dust and get it soiled. No respectable gipsy wears new clothes. Better have a tear or two in it, too.”
“You ce’tainly should have been a girl, the way you take to clothes, Curly.”
“Making up was my business for a good many years, you know,” returned the lad quietly. “If you’ll step into the other room for about fifteen minutes I’ll show you how well I can do it.”
It was a long half-hour later that Bucky thumped on the door between the rooms. “Pretty nearly ready, kid? Seems to me it is taking you a thundering long time to get that outfit on.”
“How long do you think it ought to take a lady to dress?”
“Ten minutes is long enough, and fifteen, say, if she is going to a dance. You’ve been thirty-five by my Waterbury.”
“It’s plain you never were married, Mr. Innocent. Why, a girl can’t fix her hair in less than half an hour.”
“Well, you got a wig there, ain’t you? It doesn’t take but about five seconds to stick that on. Hurry up, amigo! I’m clean through this old newspaper.”
“Read the advertisements,” came saucily through the door.