, had been ruminating, and when Dennis de Brian de Boru remained
silent, the mental wheels were grinding rapidly. "Fire away, if you want
to know anything--ask me."

Snorky proceeded to lift the broken cover of the soap dish, and brought
forth a cake which he tendered gingerly to Dennis for his olfactory
inspection.

"What a lovely pink stink!" he exclaimed, after one sniff. "Smells like
the cook on her Sunday off."

"Are you convinced?"

"I am. Skippy, the human scent-box is undoubtedly in love. Object
matrimony."

"He's got it bad this time," said Snorky, remembering that they had a
reputation as lady-killers to maintain.

"If you will associate with 'em, it's bound to happen," said Finnegan in
his rapid fire style. "I know the symptoms. My brother Pat went maudlin,
when he was just Skippy's age. Ten years of it, presents Christmas and
birthdays, flowers twice a month, postage stamps and letter paper,
weekly bulletins and all that sort of rot! Ten years, and then he
married a girl, best friend stuff, trust you together and all
that--married her a month after he met her. Think of the expense. Not
for me, old top--my money goes for race horses."

"You've nothing to worry over, you wild Irishman," said Snorky, who felt
a certain presumption in this lesson.

"Casting aspersions? Oh, I don't know! I may not be beautiful, but
women, proud women, have sighed as I passed."

"Run away," said Snorky impatiently.

"I was just going," said Dennis with dignity. At the door he paused for
a parting shot. "Hard luck, old gormandizer. There won't be so many
midnight spreads for you, now. Cut down the jiggers, shut up the pantry,
tighten the belt! Skippy'll need his money for _other_ things. Thank the
Lord the only thing he can get into of mine, is a necktie. Hard luck!"

Perhaps a little of the practical reactions had occurred to Snorky, for
he flung a shoe at the diminutive Finnegan and was still in a brown
study when Skippy came in.

"If he starts to wash he's in love. Bet that's why he's been so
friendly," he thought, waiting developments. "I thought it was queer he
didn't sulk more after the big smell!"

In fact Snorky had been considerably puzzled at his roommate's actions
after the fiasco of the Mosquito-Proof Socks.

"Any mail?" said Skippy nervously.

"I don't think so."

"Are you sure?"

"Come to think about it, there might be a letter over on the table."

The Byronic melancholy vanished from Skippy's