since he got here. He locks himself in the bathroom and spends hours
manicuring his nails and putting bay-rum on his hair. He--All right, I
won't if you say so! But, Sylvia, you ought to make a real spree of this,
and go in to the drug-store for an ice-cream soda after the show."

"Is that the usual thing?"

"It's the most usual thing that I should recommend to you. Of course,
there are others--

"Austin, you are really getting to be the limit. Go tell Thomas I
want him."

"With pleasure. I haven't," murmured Austin, "had a chance to tell him
that so far. He's never been far enough off--except when he was
getting ready to come. That's probably what he's doing now. I'll go
upstairs and see."

Austin had guessed right. Thomas stood in front of the mirror, shining
with cleanliness, knotting a red silk tie. He had reached that stage in a
young man's life when clothes were temporarily of supreme importance.
Gone was the shy and shabby ploughboy of a year before. This
self-assertive young gentleman was clad in a checked suit in which green
was a predominating color, a black-and-white striped shirt, and
chocolate-colored shoes. His hair, still dripping with moisture, was
brushed straight back from his forehead and the smell of perfumed soap
hung heavy about him.

"Hullo," he said, eyeing his brother's intrusion with disfavor, "how
dirty you are!"