Skippy Bedelle Part 12

"And say, I'm sorry about that souvenir toothbrush, honest I am, and I think you're a wonder, I do."

"Oh, that's all right. That's all right," said Skippy, embarra.s.sed.

"There's a lot of money in it, but I guess I prefer to make my pile in other ways."

CHAPTER XIII

A WOMAN OF THE WORLD

NOW that the Snorky-Skippy friendship had been placed on the firm rock of mutual revelation and all unfounded jealousies swept away by frank confession, Skippy's imagination returned to the real purpose of life.

He was a little ashamed of the time wasted on the opposite s.e.x, even if for a worthy purpose. Such frailties were all very well for Shrimp Davis and the Triumphant Egghead, who had legs educated for the ballroom, but he, John C. Bedelle, had other missions to perform in this life which held such short years for a man of imagination.

For several days he sought diligently among the needs of human nature for something on the grand scale. He tried his hand at a perpetual-motion machine. He thought out a combination submarine and airship which would put the navies of the world at the mercy of his country. He even descended to such trivial abstractions as a Reversible Shirt-Front, which took its due place in the book of inventions under the following entry:

REVERSIBLE SHIRT-FRONT

Argument: Admitted that Reversible Shirt-Fronts are easy to manufacture; what demand would there be for them? Could they be popularized among the working cla.s.ses? Treat cuffs same way.

For certain reasons he decided not to discuss this last invention with Snorky Green. These tentative efforts were but exercising his imagination. He knew it and waited breathlessly.

But at last, a month after the failure of the Foot-Regulator, the long-awaited thrill arrived, the thrill which comes only with the possession of a Universal Idea, and for the first time in his long, untroubled fifteen years, it arrived in conjunction with the intrusion into his still simple scheme of things of that arch-disturber--WOMAN.

Miss Virginia Dabtree was not destined to occupy the proud place of the first love, though Miss Dabtree (who was Snorky Green's aunt) was eminently equipped for such a position, being eighteen years his senior and at an age when by instinct, habit, and a need of self-encouragement, any tribute from the opposite s.e.x, no matter how given, caused her not the slightest irritation.

Skippy, however, was too completely dazzled by the consummate artistry of Miss Dabtree's clinging toilettes, the built-up luxuriousness of her hair, the pink and white complexion, the stenciled eyebrows, and the Lady Vere de Vere att.i.tudes to dare to entertain a personal hope.

He was dazzled, dumfounded! A new world opened to him. Through her at last he perceived woman, her place in the now more complex scheme of things, the influence she could exert, the stimulus to the imagination, and the answer to his need of some guiding purpose.

True, Miss Dabtree's age was her protection. She was removed from even the flights of his imagination, yet the influence she exerted all unwittingly over his life was inestimable. For it was for her, to protect her, that he, Skippy Bedelle, conceived his magnum opus, the Mosquito-Proof Socks.

The hour was eight, the day Sunday, the time the first clear week in June. They sat together on the porch of the Kennedy, listening to the sound of the Upper House singing rising clearly above the tw.a.n.g of banjos across the campus from the esplanade.

The long twilight had set in, yet the afterglow hung brilliantly about them. Skippy was balanced gingerly on the front edge of a rocker which swayed perilously under him and added to his general discomfort. There was a safe straight-backed stationary chair only ten feet away, but to save his life he could think of no legitimate excuse for rising and possessing it. If he leaned back the sharp upright collar, borrowed from Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan, cut cruelly into his chin, and when he craned forward the red choker tie (restored by Snorky in addition to the agate cuff b.u.t.tons) bulged forth in the most disconcerting and unimpressive luxuriance.

"You've known Snorky, that is, Arthur, a long time, haven't you?" he said desperately, breathing hard.

"Why, you funny boy! I'm his aunt," said Miss Dabtree, laughing.

"Oh, yes!" He felt he had offended her mortally, so to repair his social blunder he said point-blank: "Gee! Some fellows are born lucky!"

"Now that is sweet of you," she said, giving him the full effect of her heavenly smile. "But I'm afraid you're a terrible flatterer."

"Shall I tell her about the Foot Regulator?" thought Skippy, who felt the need of confiding his life's ambition.

But at this moment Destiny arrived in the shape of a mosquito that registered its coming on one of Skippy's open-work socks. Skippy shook his foot uneasily, just enough to disturb the intruder but not enough to attract Miss Dabtree's attention. The mosquito transferred its operations to the other sock. Skippy, in order to conceal his predicament, slowly crossed his legs and then hastily uncrossed them, not being quite sure of the etiquette of such a position.

The mosquito, pursuing its way, lighted on the graceful silver-sheened stocking which Skippy had been contemplating furtively for the last ten minutes with a sudden realization that the feminine ankle has certain strange sentimental values utterly different from those for which his and Snorky Green's were created.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Good gracious!" cried Miss Dabtree with an impetuous lunge towards the point of attack. _Page 78_]

But immediately a terrible dilemma arose. How was he to act? In another moment the beautiful creature so perfumingly close to him would notice the intruder, might even retreat before the menace of more mosquitoes, and the rapturous twilight opportunity for opening his confidence would pa.s.s forever. His instinct was all to protect her. But how? To slap at the insect with his cap or his hand was unthinkable. He found himself blushing at the very thought! Yet how to warn her without acknowledging that his attention had been concentrated on the lower graceful silhouette? He might offend her irreparably. Even if he exclaimed, "Look out, there's a 'skeeter,'" what would he answer if she in her innocence should ask, "Where?"

As he debated this, hot and cold, the inevitable happened.

"Good gracious!" cried Miss Dabtree with an impetuous lunge towards the point of attack, which made Skippy modestly avert his gaze. "This place is filled with mosquitoes. We never can sit here!"

She rose and led the way to the parlor.

"Won't you come and wait for Arthur?"

"Thanks, thanks awfully; much obliged," said Skippy, gulping down his disappointment. He tripped against the foot-sc.r.a.per and made a mess of opening the door for her. He wanted above all things in the world to follow her in and be permitted just for a few more wonderful minutes to sit and gaze at her loveliness. But to admit this was impossible.

Whatever happened, she must never suspect, never! So at loss for an excuse he stammered, "I'd love to, but really I ought to get back for study hour."

A moment later, having backed and sc.r.a.ped down the steps and thanked her profusely for some indefinite thing for which she ought to be thanked, he went rushing around the corner, let himself in by King Lentz's window, and surrept.i.tiously gained his room. At last, having torn off the red choker tie and freed his neck, back once more to the ease of bachelor attire, he returned wrathfully to the pest which had perhaps saved him from his first sentimental excursion.

Sunk in a cushioned armchair, his slippered feet on the desk, a bottle of cooling ginger pop in one hand and a cream puff in the other, he placed before his imagination the problem:

"Why the mosquito?"

The more he pondered the more he became impressed with the fact that here indubitably was one of the errors of the Almighty. Snakes destroyed rats and mice at least, but what earthly purpose was served by mosquitoes?

He knew, as all smatterings of outer information reached him via the weekly lecture course, that besides being a stinging annoyance to the human race, the mosquito was a breeder of plagues and had to be fought in southern climes. Having wrathfully considered his subject and come to the conclusion that no mitigating circ.u.mstances could exist, he next put to himself this problem:

"If the mosquito cannot be exterminated, can it be neutralized? If so, how?"

When Snorky Green, to whom Miss Dabtree was more aunt than woman, came bursting in an hour later, with the rebellious consciousness of having thoroughly earned the five-dollar bill which lay in the safest of pockets, he stopped short at the sight of his roommate in that reclining concentration which Sherlock Holmes has popularized, the briar pipe being replaced by a large pencil, on which Skippy was chewing in heavy meditation.

"I say, Skippy, the old girl certainly came up handsome!" said Snorky gleefully, searching for the bill.

"Sh--sh!" said Skippy without turning.

"What the deuce?"

"I want to think."

"Danged if he isn't inventing something else!" said Snorky, who went on tiptoe to a position where he could study the frowning outward signs of the mental disturbances which were undoubtedly working inwardly. At the end of a silent hour, Skippy condescended to relax.

"Well!" said Snorky excitedly.

Skippy rose with dignity and went to the window, gazing out a moment into the darkling night where unknown myriads of mosquitoes lurked all unconscious of the doom impending over them.

"I say, Skippy, what's the big idea?"

"It's big--bigger than anything you ever imagined," said Skippy impressively.