LOVE PLUS HIPPO
JUST as there are professional conversationalists and professional
sponges, Miss Potterman was a professional beauty. There was nothing
accidental or temporary about her. She was complete, perfect, and she
knew her loveliness. After five years' triumphant progress in society
she was accustomed to the petrifying effect of her sudden presence on a
beauty-worshipping sex. She did not walk as other mortals walk, but
floated in fragrantly and Skippy stood staring rock-still, as though
Hippo had flashed the head of Medusa. None of which by the way was lost
on the keenly observant Hippo.
"I beg pardon, I'm Skippy," he said shaking himself.
"Mr. Bedelle, isn't it?" said Miss Potterman in the tones that angels
are supposed to employ.
Skippy saw no one else. In another moment he was seated on the
window-seat entranced, dazed and blissfully content with his fate,
docile as the rabbit in the presence of the boa constrictor.
"I'm so glad Corny is in your house," said Miss Potterman with a smile
in the irresistible eyes. "You will watch over him, won't you, Mr.
Bedelle?"
"Will I? You bet I will!"
"You see he's my only brother and we didn't want him to go to boarding
school--not just yet. That is, mother and I. Dad insisted on it. I don't
think he's always, well--quite appreciated Cornelius."
"I understand," said Skippy, averting his look. Even in the intoxication
of her presence he could appreciate Dad.
"You see, Corny's different from other boys, Mr. Bedelle. He's more like
a grown-up person. He has a wonderful mind and such an unusual
personality. I don't want him to lose it all and be just like every
other boy. And some boys, I'm afraid, won't understand him just at
first. You will look after him, protect him, won't you?"
"I'd promise _you_ anything," said Skippy recklessly, which is the
privilege of sixteen in the presence of twenty-five.
Miss Potterman smiled without surprise and laid her hand gently a moment
on his arm in the deadliest of feminine gestures.
"Corny's told me how kind you have been already."
Skippy looked incredulous.
"Indeed he has. Really he's quite fond of you already."
"I say, Sis," said Nuisance at this moment, "hasn't Skippy got a
whang-dinger of a room?"
And he approached with the layer cake and the eclairs.
"What a wonderful spread," said Miss Potterman, "but really you have
been too extravagant!"
Something in Skippy's sudden look decided Hippo to keep the secret, but
he revenged himself on the cake in a way that made his sister exclaim:
"Corny, where _are_ your manners?"
"'S all right. I'll buy another," said Hippo, who then winked brazenly
at Skippy.
"I'll murder him, I will," said Skippy wrathfully to himself. "I'd strip
the hide off him, if it--if it weren't for--" Then he raised his eyes
and beheld the reason why, smiling at him with perfect faith.
"I'm afraid we've spoiled Corny just a little," she said hesitating.
"Oh, that's all right."
"Is--is there much of that dreadful hazing?"
"Well, sometimes," said Skippy, who always placed the proper value on
his services.
"Oh dear, I've heard such dreadful things have happened," said Miss
Potterman, thoroughly alarmed.
"That's only when accidents happen."
"Accidents!"
"Don't worry, Miss Potterman," said Skippy with the manner of a Grand
Duke. "Fellows do get rough sometimes, but I'll look after him."
Miss Potterman again laid her hand on his arm.
"Thank you."
She stayed but half an hour. The door closed. The birds fled from the
windows and the daffodils retired under the carpet.
"Whew!" said Snorky explosively.
Skippy fell back on a chair and fanned himself.
"What's the use?" he said disconsolately.
"Women are our inferiors," said Snorky wickedly.
"What eyes!"
"Woman is like a harp--"
"Woman!" said Skippy rousing himself indignantly. "You don't call that a
woman! That's Maude Adams and Lorna Doone and--and the Gibson Girl
rolled into one!"
"Don't blame you," said Snorky heavily. "It ain't right to let anything
as wonderful as that roam around loose. Skippy, it's all wrong."
"You're right there."
"Well," said Snorky reflectively, "she turned up in time. We'd have had
Nuisance ready for the undertaker by the morning."
"My hands are tied," said Skippy glumly. "I've promised."
"Me too, but how are we going to stick it out?"
"Well, we'll have to treat Nuisance with moral influences," said Skippy
thoughtfully. "It will be longer, longer and harder."
They dined with Miss Potterman at the Inn and that and a walk about the
campus under the stars completed the devastation. Before it was over
Skippy actually heard himself called "Jack," had shaken hands on an
eternal friendship, promised to write from time to time of Hippo's
progress and needs, agreed to defend him from bodily injury and promised
to accompany him home for the short Thanksgiving recess. The final touch
came when Miss Potterman sought to press upon him a large bill in case
Hippo should be perishing of thirst or hunger.
Skippy put it away. It hurt to do so, it choked him, but he did it.
"Not from you--I couldn't," he said huskily. "I--well, I just couldn't."
That night as he stood at his bureau and looked into the eyes of the
past, at Mimi and Dolly and Jennie and Vivi the hunter of scalps, he
spoke.
"Snorky?"
"What is it, old boy?"
"Ever go fishing?"
"You betcha."
"Do you know the feeling after you've been dabbling with six-inch and
five-inch and four-inch trout all day,--and something about three feet
long weighing ten or twelve pounds grabs your hook? Do you get me?"
"Sure, I get you," said Snorky gazing heavily out at the stars, "but oh
gee, Skippy, why does she have to be Nuisance's sister?"
* * * * *
Snorky's worst forebodings were realized. Nuisance earned his title a
hundredfold within the week. Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan had been
fresh, was fresh and would freshen more, but Dennis was amusing and
added to the gayety of nations. Nuisance was what his name implied,
simply intolerable. You stumbled over him and you bumped into him. When
state secrets were being discussed in whispers, Nuisance was always
within earshot. He was the extra, the intruder, the tail to the kite. He
did not actively offend against the traditions which govern freshmen in
the incubator period. He was too clever for that. He had submitted to
the mild hazing with a cheerfulness which robbed it of all its sting. He
had climbed water towers and sung appropriate hymns. He had sat in
washbasins and gravely pulled imaginary miles against the toothpicks
furnished him as oars. He had submitted to the pi's as they came with a
full recognition that the second and third men in the mounting heap
were extremely more uncomfortable than himself with a mattress for a
vis-a-vis. He was not insubordinate--he was just a nuisance.
But if he kept skilfully within the letter of the law so far as the rest
of the house was concerned he was irrepressible once in the company of
Skippy. Nothing that Skippy could do could chill his affection or bring
him to a proper realization of the deference which should mark the
manner of a freshman towards one of the lords of the earth.
"Nuisance is like a wet muddy Newfoundland pup that wants to live in
your lap," said Snorky at the end of the second week.
"Some day," said Skippy shaking his head, "my worse nature is going to
rise up and get the better of me."
"I hope I see it!" said Snorky enthusiastically.
"Of course I'll have to hold in until after Thanksgiving," said Skippy
disconsolately.
"What? Oh, naturally."