EXPERIMENTS IN A DRESS SUIT
WHEN they descended at the Southampton station the family coach was in
waiting. They surrendered their valises to the footman while each clung
tightly to a large square paper box, carefully protected and corded.
"Gee, it'll just about knock the wind out of old Caroline," said Snorky
in a whisper.
"Don't they suspect?" said Skippy nervously.
"Not for a minute. Say, I'd never have the nerve to sport it alone."
"Have you got the box with the shirt studs in?" said Skippy fidgeting.
"Why I handed it--"
"That's so. They're here," said Skippy, after a dip into four pockets.
At the thought that at last after sixteen long and eventful years the
supreme moment had come when he would step out of the shell of
adolescence and greet the waiting world in his first forty-dollar,
custom-made dress suit, in high collar, white stiff bosom, two tails
pendant, Skippy shivered slightly and drew a deep, delightfully
terrified breath.
"We'll put it over all right," he said loudly, and he began to whistle
as is the instinct of boyhood, whether facing the possibility of a
parental caning; screwing up courage to ring her doorbell; or turning a
gloomy corner in the moonlight where something horrid and shapeless may
be lurking.
Twenty minutes later, as he was solicitously examining the crease in the
soft lovely black trousers, after hanging the swallow-tailed coat over a
padded hanger, Snorky came in with a face of thunder.
"Well, what _do_ you think?" he said nervously.
"They forgot to put in the pants," said Skippy, leaping to the worst.
"Shucks, no. There's a party on to-night."
"A party?"
"There'll be millions of people to dinner and a dance after."
"What of it?" said Skippy loudly, though the chill began to ascend from
his feet.
"My Lord--"
"Say, you're not losing your nerve, you chicken-hearted rabbit, are
you?" said Skippy, who was now absolutely terrified.
"You mean you're game?"
"Snorky! I wouldn't have believed it of you!"
"Say, it isn't your family or your sister," said Snorky angrily. "My
aunt's cat's pants, how they'll howl!"
Skippy prepared for the great event by what would have sufficed for a
European semi-annual immersion and, emerging spotless and stainless
from the bath, with his derby closely pressed over the niceties of his
parted hair, perceived that he had still forty-two minutes left of the
hour and a half he had allotted to this supreme toilette.
"My Lord, I hope I've got everything," he said, standing in diaphanous
contemplation. The one thing that worried him a little was the studs.
They had looked over twenty different varieties, flat ones and solid
gold ones, spirals, encrusted studs, and studs that anchored with a
queer twist. Finally they had allowed themselves to be persuaded by a
flashy clerk and settled on a patent imitation pearl stud that pushed in
and stuck, simplest thing in the world, like the click of a spring lock;
that would leave the beautiful creamy white expanse of shirt absolutely
unruffled by any preliminary struggle.
"Shall I try 'em on first?" he thought, glancing down at the immaculate
bosom. But at this moment a voice behind him cried pompously.
"Old top. Cast your eye on this."
Skippy gazed and his courage rose. His private opinion was that Snorky
looked like a French butcher going to a morning wedding in hired
regalia.
"The suit's a lalapazooza!" he said carefully.
"It'll kill old Carrots," said Snorky, who thus referred to his sister.
"She's over the age limit now but when I pull this she'll look a
grandmother! Say, look me over. Make sure there are no tags or price
marks. All right?"
"Jim dandy."
He went two steps to the door and turned.
"Say, remember one thing. Keep your fists out of your trousers pockets,
Bo. That's important."
"Why so?"
"Ignoramus," said Skippy, reproachfully. "That'll give the whole game
away. You never stick your hands in your trousers pockets unless you're
a greenhorn."
"How do the shirt studs work?" said Skippy, nervously.
"Simplest things in the world."
"Say, Snorky?"
"Well?"
"These coat tails have got pockets in them."
"Sure they have, you chump! They're to hide your mawlers in."
"Don't be so bright," said Skippy indignantly. "But what _do_ we put
into them, then?"
"Handkerchief."
"Rats. I know better than that. You stick a handkerchief up in front and
pull out just the tip of it."
"Perhaps it's for a toothbrush if you're staying over night."
"No, but honest, what do you put in them?" said Skippy, who did not wish
to miss a trick.
They thought this over a long moment, and then gave it up as greater
intelligences, pondering on the mysteries of existence, have given it
up.
"Well, ta-ta. See you below."
"Where you goin'?"
"I'm going to break in the family one by one," said Snorky, wagging his
head. "Lettin' 'em get over the shock. I'm taking no chances."
Left to himself, Skippy hastened to his own preparations. At the risk of
being acclaimed a traitor to the sex, we must record here the truth,
that with five mirrors surrounding him and one in the bathroom, it took
Skippy exactly forty-five minutes to perfect his toilette from every
angle of observation. First he burrowed into his shirt which deranged
the part in his hair and necessitated another period of readjustment.
Then he put on his trousers and adjusted the suspenders until each
trouser leg hung with the crease untroubled and just clear of the boot.
But having done this he discovered, as others have discovered, that
patent shirt-studs sported in an unaccustomed place, require the fullest
play of the arms. The placing of the studs was of itself the most
delicate of operations and twice he went down on his knees and halfway
under the bed to retrieve the upper one which popped out just as he
thought he had it securely imprisoned. Once more he adjusted the
suspenders, and began work on the stiff collar which caught his throat
and forced up his chin. After five minutes' struggle he succeeded in
fastening this with the aid of a buttonhook, and suddenly the thing he
had feared was upon him. He had forgotten, completely forgotten, the
white tie!
What was he to do? Snorky was beyond the reach of assistance. Twice he
had heard shouts of uproarious delight down the hall marking his chum's
progress in breaking in the family. The house was huge and Snorky by
this time was down on the second floor or even practicing in the parlor.
He went through the motions of searching through his valise but he knew
all the while that it was futile. He had forgotten the final touch, the
_sine qua non_ of fashion!
He found a wrapper in the hall closet and opening the door cautiously
peered into the hall. An uncle and an older brother of Snorky's were on
the same floor, but he had not been introduced and his courage failed
him. He returned to his room and contemplated the white bed spread, the
pillow slips and the muslin curtains in a wild hope that something might
lend itself to an improvisation. Then he shook his head mournfully.
There was only one way out. To appear properly dressed in this, a
strange house, before strangers, he would have to commit a crime! The
only way to get a white tie was to steal one. At this moment while his
whole moral future turned on an impulse, a door down the hall opened
and Skippy, peering forth, beheld an elderly gentleman, immaculately
dressed, descend the stairs. For a short moment he hesitated but atavism
and necessity were against him. He stole out into the hall and made his
way on tiptoe. All at once he heard a step ascending the stairs. A
bathroom door was open. He sprang into it with a thumping heart and
waited breathlessly, leaning limply against the wall. All at once his
eye fell on the clothes basket. From the top a crumpled white tie was
hanging. He was saved!
He seized the tie and head erect, honor intact, walked fearlessly back
to his room. But there, a new dilemma! The tie was indeed of whitest
lawn but, alas! across one end was a smudge which defied the most
persistent rubbing. Skippy, as has been observed, was at the period when
the imagination is not confined by tradition. In desperation he resorted
to the washbasin and with the aid of a brush, triumphantly banished the
damned spot. Then having wrung the limp mass, he spread the tie
carefully against the window pane and covering it with a handkerchief,
laboriously ironed it out with a shoe.
Just as the clock struck half past seven, Mr. John C. Bedelle descended
the last stairs and greeted a critical world. Beads of perspiration
stood on his forehead, his spine seemed made of rubber, his knees shook
and his restless, chilly hands loomed before him, homeless and lost; but
he was safe at last in all the intricacies of a dress suit--a man of
fashion among men of the world!
Snorky was standing miserably by the fireplace, his large peppermint
ears flanking a heated face, as he defiantly faced the family hilarity.
Then Skippy's superb aplomb failed him. Just beyond the smirking family,
among the early guests, was Miss Jennie Tupper, the girl with the
velvety eyes, and at her side, as icily correct as when the night before
she had crushed Snorky's floundering attempt at lady-killing, her sister
Margarita.