e was
runnin' out fast.

How about Angelica? Ah, say, next mornin' there shows up a younger,
fresher, gushier one than she is, and inside of half an hour her and
Curlylocks is close together on a bench, and he's got the little book
out again. Angelica pines in the background for about three minutes
before Chester comes around with the tourin' car, and the last I see of
'em they was snuggled up together in the back of the tonneau. So I
guess Chetty don't need much sympathisin' with, even if he was passed a
couple of lime drops.

XIII

GIVING BOMBAZOULA THE HOOK

Maybe I was tellin' you something about them two rockin' chair
commodores from the yacht club, that I've got on my reg'lar list?
They're some of Pinckney's crowd, you know, and that's just as good as
sayin' they're more ornamental than useful. Anyway, that description's
a close fit for Purdy.

First off I couldn't stand for Purdy at all. He's one of these natty,
band box chappies, with straw coloured hair slicked down as smooth as
if he'd just come up from a dive, and a costume that looks as if it
might have been copied from a stained glass window. You've seen them
symphonies in greys and browns, with everything matched up, from their
shirt studs to their shoes buttons? Now, I don't mind a man's bein' a
swell dresser--I've got a few hot vests myself--but this tryin' to be a
Mr. Pastelle is runnin' the thing into the ground.

Purdy could stand all the improvin' the tailor could hand him, though.
His eyes was popped just enough to give him a continual surprised look,
and there was more or less of his face laid out in nose. Course, he
wa'n't to blame for that; but just the same, when he gets to comin' to
the Studio twice a week for glove work and the chest weights, I passes
him over to Swifty Joe. Honest, I couldn't trust myself to hit around
that nose proper. But Swifty uses him right. Them clothes of Purdy's
had got Swifty goin', and he wouldn't have mussed him for a farm.

After I'd got used to seein' Purdy around, I didn't mind him so much
myself. He seemed to be a well meanin', quiet, sisterly sort of a
duck, one of the kind that fills in the corners at afternoon teas, and
wears out three pairs of pumps every winter leadin' cotillions. You'll
see his name figurin' in the society notes: how Mrs. Burgess Jones gave
a dinner dance at Sherry's for the younger set, and the cotillion was
led by Mr. Purdy Bligh. Say, how's that as a steady