steps the hero of the evenin'. Dress suit? Say, you don't know
Virgie. He's wearin' a reg'lar monk's outfit, of some coarse brown
stuff belted in with a thick rope and open wide at the neck.

"For the love of beans, look at his feet!" I whispers.

"Sandals," says Whity, "and no socks! Blessed if Virgie isn't going
the limit!"

There's a chorus of "Ah-h-h-h's!" as he steps out, and then comes a
buzz of whispers which might have been compliments, and might not. But
it don't faze Virgie. He goes bowin' and handshakin' through the mob,
smilin' mushy on all and several, and actin' as pleased with himself as
if he'd taken the prize at a fancy dress ball. You should have seen
Cousin Inez when he gets to her!

"Oh, you utterly clever man!" she gushes. "What a genuine genius you
are!"

"Dear, sweet lady!" says he. "It is indeed gracious of you to say so."

"Help!" groans Whity, like he had a pain.

"Ah, buck up!" says I. "It'll be your turn soon."

I was wonderin' how Virgie was goin' to simmer down enough to pass
Whity the chilly greetin'; for he's just bubblin' over with kind words
and comic little quips. But, say, he don't even try to shade it.

"Ah, Whity, my boy!" says he, extendin' the cordial paw. "Charming of