The Haunted Pajamas Part 11

She nodded brightly. "Oh, a modest one, you know--not, of course, a Jeffries-Johnson affair, but I tell you we had them going some for a round and a half. Athletics is my long suit--just you feel those biceps." And with sudden movement she swept upward the wide, silken sleeve, showing a limb like the lost arm of the Venus de what's-its-name.

"Go on--just feel it," she commanded, flexing the arm.

"I--I--" And I gulped and balked.

"_Feel_ it, I tell you!" And I did.

And then I almost fell over, I received such a shock. For my fingers seemed to be clasping, not the soft, rounded contour I beheld, but a great ma.s.sed protuberance, hard and unyielding as a bunch of dried putty. My fingers could not half span it.

I jerked them away, bewildered.

"Wonderful," I said faintly, and I batted perplexedly at the exquisite, symmetrical arm.

"Oh, that's nothing," she said indifferently, jerking down her sleeve.

"I'm a little undertrained now; been putting in all my time on leg work.

That's what counts in foot-ball.

"Foot-ball!" I questioned, astonished. "Why, I didn't know--"

"That I was on the team? Surest thing you know; that's why I've got all this mop of hair--comes below my collar--see?"

Her collar, indeed! It was easy to see that, if unbound, it would reach considerably below her waist. But _foot-ball_! Why, she must mean basket-ball, of course. I opened my mouth to remind her, when she proceeded:

"But I was going to tell you about this prize fight. Well, this fight was just a little one, you know. Purse of eighteen dollars; and we had to chip in afterward with an extra three to get Mug Kelly--that's the Charlestown Pet, you know--to stand the gaff for a second round. Why, he was all in on the count at the end of the first round--what do you think of that?"

"But I say, you know--" I began, but she lifted her hand.

"I know--I know what you're going to say, d.i.c.ky; you think we were a bunch of easy marks, that's what you think. But how could we tell what my room-mate was going to do to the Pet--we couldn't, you know."

"Your room-mate!" I exclaimed aghast. "A--an other young lady--in a pugilistic encounter? Oh, I say!"

She chuckled. "G'long; stop your kidding!" And she kicked playfully at me. Then she a.s.sumed a mincing air--finger on chin, lips pursed, and eyes rolling upward, you know.

"Yes, another sweet young peacherino--Miss Billings' little room-mate--a beef that hits the beam at about two-sixty--Little Lizzie, you know."

"Lizzie!" I repeated vaguely.

"Oh, say, d.i.c.ky, cut it out; let me finish. Well, another minute, and the Pet would have been put to sleep, but just then the coppers nailed us." She added gloomily: "And that's what queered me with Sis. Fierce, ain't it?"

She sighed and her beautiful lashes drooped sadly. By Jove, I was so jolly floored I couldn't manage a word. I knew, of course, that my heart was broken, but it didn't matter. I loved her just the same; I should always love her; and she had tried to let me know she loved me better than any man she had ever met. What the deuce did anything else matter, anyhow? We would marry and go out on a ranch or something of that sort, where the false, polished what-you-call-it of civilization didn't count, and no rude rebuff or sneer of society would ever chill her warm impulsiveness.

She smiled archly. "See here, d.i.c.ky, I thought we were going to tell each other the story of our lives. Your turn now; tell me how she looks to you, this girl that came at last--there's always the one girl comes at last, they say, if you wait long enough. Go on--tell me--what's she like?"

"Of course, you don't know!" I said significantly.

"Me? Of course I wouldn't know--I want you to tell me. Say, is she really so pretty?"

"Pretty," indeed! It was like this adorable child of nature not to understand that she was the most perfect and faultless creation on earth!

I leaned toward her. "_Is_ she pretty?" I repeated reproachfully.

She eyed me slyly.

"Oh, of course I know how _you_ feel," she said, "but draw me a _picture_ of her."

"A picture!" I laughed. "All right, here goes: Eighteen, 'a daughter of the G.o.ds, divinely tall and most divinely fair'--that sort of thing.

Features cla.s.sic--perfect oval, you know, and profile to set an artist mad with joy. Eyes? Blue as Hebe's, but big and true and tender; hair, a great, s.h.i.+ning nugget of virgin gold. Form divine--the ideal of a poet's dream--the alluring, the elusive, the unattainable, the despair of the sculptor's chisel."

"My!" said Miss Billings, staring.

But I was not through. "Complexion? Her skin as smooth as the heart of a seash.e.l.l and as delicately warm as its rosy blush when kissed by the amorous tide."

"Gee!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed my darling.

I looked at her closely. "And in one matchless cheek a dimple divine such as might have been left by the barbed arrow of Cupid when it awoke Psyche from her swoon of death. In short, she might be the dainty fairy princess of our childhood fantasies, were she less superb in figure. On the other hand, she might be the sunny-haired daughter of a Viking king, were she not too delicately featured and molded."

That was all I could remember from the description as I had read it in a novel, but I was glad I had stored it up, by Jove, for it suited her to a dot. She didn't say a word for a moment, but just sat there eying me kind of sidewise, her little upper lip lifted in an odd way. Then of a sudden she shook her head and swung her knees up over the arm of her chair.

"Well, d.i.c.ky, as a describer you sure are the slushy spreader. Say, you've got Eleanor Glyn backed off the boards."

She went on eagerly: "I don't care, though; slushy or not, your picture's just perfect for _her_. Why, your girl must be a ringer for the girl at Radcliffe. Only thing you left out was the freckle on the chin."

Freckle on the chin! By Jove, I left it out on purpose, for I thought she might not like it. I wondered if all girls at Radcliffe had freckles on the chin.

She lay back, regarding me inscrutably. "If she looks like that," she sighed, "you ought to love her very much, d.i.c.ky."

I couldn't say anything, for words are so deuced inadequate, you know.

But I just made an effort to look it all.

"Of course," sighing, "you ought to feel that way; and, another thing, d.i.c.ky: you'll never forget where you first saw her, will you? One of the things one never forgets."

"Right in this room," I murmured; "and in that wicker chair."

"Really?" Her surprised e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n was delicious. By Jove, how entrancingly coquettish of her! How jolly clever!

"Go on; tell me how she was dressed--never mind any more picture business; just tell me in four or five words. Bet you can't do it!" She slipped over again to the arm of my chair.

In her eyes was a challenge and I took it up.

"In black silk pajamas," I said daringly.

Her blue eyes opened wide. For a moment I feared she would be offended at my audacity, but her birdlike carol of laughter rea.s.sured me.

"Say, _you're_ not so slow, _are_ you?"

And her hand came down on my back with a force that made me jump.

"Only shows," she gurgled merrily, "how little Jack knows about you.

Say, you'd better never tell _him_ about those black pajamas!"