SNORKY AS A LADY-KILLER
"_L'AMOUR a des raisons que la raison connait pas_," say the French, who
ought to know, and the first expansive sentimental affection of a boy
for a chum has also its illogical quality. Now, Skippy adored Snorky and
the affection was returned. He felt that Snorky would die for him, as of
course he would lay down his own life for his friend, if they should
ever hunt together in African jungles. He was willing to share Snorky's
last dime, keep his confidences, and fight shoulder to shoulder. He
admired, he respected, he loved Snorky, but for the life of him he could
not see wherein Snorky Green's peculiar brand of beauty should appeal to
the young feminine eye any more than his own lank frame and sharpened
features. Why should Snorky's glass present four lovely and adoring
feminine faces, while his own should give back only a pointed nose
around which the orange freckles swarmed like flies? True, the
lady-killer's wardrobe was of a magnificence which outshone his, but
then socks and neckties and cuff-button jewelry are communal
possessions.
* * * * *
Why should Snorky Green then inspire such passions while he passed
lonely and unloved? No, certainly Snorky was not beautiful. He had a
smudgy, stubby little nose. He was lop-eared and the dank yellow hair
fell about his puffy eyes in straight, unrippling shocks. Yet four women
(three blondes and a brunette) watched with affectionate glances the
progress of his casual morning toilette. Why?
The next morning, as Skippy reluctantly rose and gazed upon the feminine
galaxy waiting at the bureau that was not his, the sense of his own
inferiority again smote him. Envy is the corrupting cancer of
friendship. He did like Snorky. He yearned for the life-and-death
devotion of a chum of chums; a sort of Damon and Pythias, D'Artagnan and
Athos affair--but, while this sense of inferiority continued, the shadow
was over the fair sunlit landscape of impulsive friendship. It was so,
and the feeling would not down.
That evening, being alone, he stood again contemplating the evidence of
Snorky Green's predatory progress among the ladies. He examined the four
photographs carefully.
"They can't all be sisters," he said gloomily; besides, he knew that his
roommate, more fortunate than he, had to bear but one such cross.
"Danged if I can see what gets them. If that fellow's a lady charmer,
I'll hire out for a matinee idol!"
On the pin cushion was a pin in the shape of an arrow (an arrow of
course suggested a transpierced heart), which Snorky wore for important
ceremonies, when he donned a perpendicular collar and a white coaching
tie. On the wall was a Farmington banner and on the sofa five pillows
worked by loving feminine hands.
"Sisters never go to that trouble," said Skippy, secure in his knowledge
of sister nature. "By the great horned spoon this can't go on. I've
either got to lick the stuffin's out of him or--"
Without finishing his phrase, he went to the table, drew forth Caesar's
"Gallic Wars," and a copy of "Lorna Doone" and immediately began to
concentrate. A moment later Snorky Green arrived chuckling from a foray
down the hall where he had just deposited a moth ball in the lamp
chimney of Beckstein, the Midnight Poler. He came in rollicking and
triumphant, slamming and locking the door against a sudden reprisal.
Then, seeing Skippy, he stiffened, scowled, and assumed an air of frigid
dignity. Skippy, with his eye on a convenient mirror, followed his
movements expectantly.
Snorky, having glared sufficiently at the unresponsive back of his
roommate, planted himself in front of him and said angrily:
"Say, what in tarnation is biting you, anyhow?"
Part of the pleasure which Skippy derived from his periodic application
of ostracism was in the immediate success it achieved on his roommate's
impressionable temperament. At present, being in an exceedingly grouchy
mood, he drew forth a pad and pencil and tendered them with a plain
intimation that only thus would he receive any communications.
"What are you sore about?" said Snorky, flaring up at once. "Just
because I took a crack at your old Souvenir Toothbrush? Is that it?"
Skippy drew forth a handy literal translation and ostensibly began to
apply it to the baffling text.
"My lord, you act like a sick girl! You're a pleasant roommate, you are!
How long are you going to sulk like this?"
Skippy began to whistle softly to himself:
"You can't play in my backyard;
I don't love you any more."
Whereupon Snorky, having slammed a book on the table, advanced with
doubled fists, exclaiming:
"You stop that, do you hear! You stop that or--or--I'll--"
Skippy, whose calm was delightfully reinforced by this show of temper,
again, but without looking up, indicated the pad and pencil.
"I can lick you!" said Snorky hoarsely.
This was too much. Skippy sprang up, fists ready, and glowered his
defiance. For a long moment they held this bellicose attitude, a
collision imminent. But a resort to primitive methods is a serious
affair between roommates. Each hesitated, seeking a dignified evasion of
the crisis.
"Well, go on with your baby act, if you enjoy it," said Snorky
scornfully. "Lord, I'd hate to have your disposition!"
The status quo having been restored, Skippy discarded Caesar's "Gallic
Perplexities" and returned to boyhood's first heroine, while Snorky in a
rage retreated to his side of the room and pondered.
"I certainly riled him that time," said Skippy joyfully to himself.
"Wonder what he'll do now?"
After a few moments Snorky began to whistle, meditating to himself,
which in boyhood is always a signal that the imagination is working.
"What's the big idea now?" said Skippy, following from the corner of his
eye.
Snorky rose briskly and, repairing to his closet, disappeared on all
fours. A moment later he returned, with a box of large and juicy
chocolate eclairs and a bottle of ginger pop, and, establishing himself
at the opposite end of the table, began to enjoy himself audibly.
"The low-down hound!" said Skippy, writhing on his seat.
In his calculations, he had completely forgotten the purchase of the
afternoon. In turn he rose, delved into the debris of his closet and,
returning, spread before his end of the table one tin of deviled turkey
(Snorky's favorite), a large piece of American cheese and a bottle of
root beer.
It had now become a battle of wits, with each resolved to impress the
other with the delicious satisfaction that he was experiencing and each
gazing from time to time at a point directly above the other's head.
There were six eclairs. Snorky ate four rapidly, licking his fingers
with gusto after each.
Then he ate the fifth eclair more slowly and with some effort. Despite
all his self-control Skippy's gaze could not turn from that
last-surviving member of the chocolate family. He was suffering
tortures, but suffering under a calm and smiling exterior.
"Hello!" said Snorky suddenly, talking to himself. "I almost forgot."
He rose and left the room to Skippy and the sixth eclair. Tantalus, amid
his parched seeking of a cooling draught, never suffered more anguish
than Skippy sitting there before that undefended eclair, with only a
gesture intervening.
"Of all the mean, dirty, contemptible tricks!" he said angrily between
his teeth, revolting at this most treacherous trap. For he must not, he
could not, no matter what the pain he must endure, admit defeat by
falling on that eclair. He rose and went to the window. Certainly he had
been mistaken in Snorky; no one who would carry a quarrel to such
fiendish lengths had the largeness of spirit that he had the right to
demand in a chum.
When Snorky returned, he glanced in some surprise at the untouched
eclair. Then he lifted it gingerly, examined it closely to see if it
contained any foreign corrupting matter, and, his appetite restored by
the lapse of time, ate it with smacking relish.
Skippy, crouched in his chair, ground his teeth and tried to shut out
the tantalizing sounds. Snorky began to hum gaily to himself. Then,
proceeding across the direct line of his roommate's vision, he took up
the latest photograph and contemplated it with a little exaggerated
rapture. It was the last straw. Skippy's rage burst forth in a loud and
insulting guffaw.
"Ha, ha!"
Snorky, to whom the advantage of the situation was now apparent, took up
each photograph in turn and smiled with the pardonable pride of one who
knows his own worth.
The next moment two books went flying across the room, and Skippy, now
thoroughly infuriated, stood before him, arms akimbo, a sneer on his
disgusted lips.
"Don't let me stop you. Go on, kiss it, fondle it. Put it under your
pillow and hug it, you great big mooncalf! Say, why do you come to
Lawrenceville, anyhow? Why don't you go to Ogontz or Dobbs Ferry?"
Then Snorky, tasting the sweets of revenge, went to the table and,
picking up the pad and pencil, presented them to Skippy with a mocking
bow.
Skippy's reply is not to be found even in the most up-to-date
dictionaries. Furious at his roommate, the world in general, and himself
most of all, he shed his clothes and dived into bed.
"Girls--faugh!" he exclaimed in disgust And, pulling the covers over his
head, he retired to his own ruminations.