and taking to crocheting--a girl who lisps like that, too!
Whatever was eating you, anyhow?"

"She talked like a shower bath," said Skippy unfeelingly, "but her eyes
were lovely. Well, that's over."

"What's the use? You'll fall again."

"Never," said Skippy firmly. Then he qualified it. "That is, not in the
same way."

"There ain't no two ways."

"Sure there is. It's like swimming. You can dive in or you can sit on
the bank and splash with your toes--Savvy?"

"Ha! ha!"

"Wait and see. I know a thing or two."

Twenty minutes later, having assumed the full glories of evening dress
(with studs of the good old-fashioned style that remained anchored),
they departed for dinner at the Balous across the way.

"Say, put me on," said Skippy, who like all artists of the imagination
was seized with an uncontrollable nervousness before facing an audience.
"Who's in the party?"

"Only Charlie and Vivi."

"Vivi?"

"Real name's Violet but she's dressed it up."

"What's she like? What's her line?"

"Stiff as a ramrod--prim as an old maid, conversation strictly
educational."

"Well, what does she look like?"

"Flabby as a cart-horse."

"Say, what the devil--"

"Grub's o.k. and there'll be fun after," said Snorky by way of
justification.

"How's the old folks?"

"Mr. Balou? He's a terror, gives you the willies. If he doesn't freeze
you the old girl will."

Skippy's traditional scepticism of any statement with the Snorky stamp
would have warned him at any other time. But this being in a way a new
experience in strange waters, his nervousness got the better of him.
Halfway up the driveway he plucked Snorky's sleeve.

"Listen."

"Let go me arm you chump."

"What do you say to them?"

"Say to whom?"

"Mr. and Mrs."

"Talk about the weather, you ignoramus."

"Sure I know that, but afterwards, at dinner, what do you talk about
there?"

"Don't worry, that's what girls are for."

Despite which advice, Skippy nervously ran over his conversational
ammunition. There was of course Maude Adams to begin with. He tried hard
to think of some book he had read--some work of sufficient dullness to
serve up to this blue stocking atmosphere.

"Stop shootin' your cuff," said Snorky, applying his finger to the bell.
"Don't you know anything about society?"

"Who's nervous?" said Skippy indignantly.

His backbone stiffened to the consistency of the white manacle that
imprisoned his throat, he brushed the slight