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 sex, 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 classes? 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 sex, 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 attitudes 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 twang 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 buttons) 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.
[Illustration: "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
pass 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-scraper 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 scraped 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 surreptitiously 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 circumstances 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.
"Aren't you going to tell a fellow!"
"Perhaps."
Now Snorky was not without a certain knowledge of human nature,
particularly Skippy-nature, so without further interest he proceeded to
disrobe, flipping the five-dollar bill on the table with a rakish
gesture and saying carelessly:
"The old gal has a heart, anyhow. However, ta-ta for the night."
Five minutes later Skippy spoke from the depths of his bed.
"Snorky, I'll tell you this much."
There was a convulsion among the opposite sheets and Snorky sat up.
"Go on, I'm listening!"
"It's bigger than bathtubs."
"You don't say so!"
"Snorky, it's--"
"It's what?"
"It's mosquitoes!"
Accustomed as Snorky had become to the young inventor's cryptic methods,
his imagination refused to follow.
"You don't see?"
"How the deuce should I see?"
"Snorky, I'm going to put the mosquito out of business!"
"How in tarnation!"
"When I get through with him," said Skippy loftily, "when my plans are
perfected--he'll starve to death!"
"Oh, say! Skippy, is that all you're going to tell me?"
"That is all for to-night," said Skippy, who, seizing a slipper, flung
it across the room at the evening's candle after the methods introduced
by the lamented Hickey Hicks, and plunged the room into darkness.