The Haunted Pajamas Part 55

Billings mopped his forehead. "My, but it was hot in that hole!" he exclaimed. "And that reminds me--have you seen the governor this morning? No? Well, talk about hot! _George_, but the old man was hot under the collar when I saw him just now! And he looks like he had been dropped from a shot tower! It's this case he's working on, I guess, or else it's about Francis. He's found out what _I_ knew."

"Do--do you think so?" I questioned nervously.

"Pretty sure," said Billings carelessly. "Fact is, he's already fixing up to send Francis to some kind of reformatory--heard him making the arrangements over the 'phone"--I was glad he didn't look at me as he rattled on--"and, by the way, the governor told me to tell _you_ not to say a _word_ to Francis--I suppose you'll understand."

Understand? Oh, yes, _I_ understood!

"And he said he wanted to see you."

"Is--is he here?" I stammered, pulling back.

"Thank goodness, no. Gone to meet Colonel Francis Kirkland--say, don't say anything about it--wants to surprise his daughter, you know. On his way to London via San Francisco--arrived at Was.h.i.+ngton a few days ago."

Oh, the frump's father! Much I cared! But knowing how interested _he_ was in her, I tried to show an interest.

"Colonel Francis--er--isn't his daughter named after him?" And I felt myself grow jolly red, for I remembered that _she_ had told me that about her friend as she sat on the arm of the Morris chair and in the black pajamas.

"Hanged if _I_ know," said Billings carelessly. "I don't know what her name is--don't remember that I ever heard." He whistled. "Say, but did you ever see anything as stunningly pretty in your life?"

I balked. By Jove, I had been doing some mild lying within the past twenty-four hours, but this was asking _too_ much! Dash me if I just could go it, that's all. But he didn't seem to notice.

He slapped me on the back. "By George, d.i.c.ky, there's just the girl cut out for you, old chap--take my tip. I think she likes you, too--could see it just now when I was talking about you."

So that was it, I reflected gloomily. The frump now was to be worked off on me, and I was expected to stand for it. I was to be a sort of what-you-call-it offering on the altar of friends.h.i.+p. _That_ was the condition upon which he was patching up things!

Billings laughed suddenly. "But, oh, I tell you it would be hard on Francis--a regular knockout, by George!"

Devilish brutal for him to say so, I thought.

"Do you think so?" I questioned dismally. "Would Frances really care?"

"Oh, yes," he said lightly. "Soon get over it, though--puppy love, you know."

Puppy love, indeed! By Jove, how I hated Billings!

He went on: "Suppose you never heard anything of the professor and the pajamas?"

I had not, and I was devilish sick of pajamas, anyway.

"And say, d.i.c.ky, I don't remember that I ever thanked you properly, old man, for putting up my kid brother the other night. He says you treated him like a brick and that you and he got to be great pals. So much obliged, old chap, because he wanted to go running around, you know."

"Your brother?" I questioned, astonished, and I guess my face must have showed it, for Billings' eyes, first opening wide, narrowed, and his countenance began to gather an angry red. He stopped short.

"_Didn't_ he stay with you?" he snapped.

I stared blankly. "Why, Billings--I didn't know--I didn't remember you had a brother. I never have seen him."

Billings' face swelled redder, and he struck his fist down with an oath.

He looked angrily toward the house. Then he stepped hurriedly in advance of me.

"Excuse me, old chap, will you?" he said, his voice hardened. "Will see you at luncheon--make yourself at home, won't you?"

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

UNDER THE PERGOLA

Make myself at home! I sneaked under the quiet shade in a convenient pergola, and, dropping upon a bench, gazed gloomily at the sunlight patches at my feet.

"Oh, _here_ you are, eh?" broke harshly upon me.

I looked up, startled from my mood. There, hands upon his hips and scowling, stood--the chauffeur!

I frowned, but the fellow just moved nearer.

"I guess mamma's baby don't feel so spry this morning!" he jeered. "Does its little heady-c.u.ms ache-ums--eh?"

I grunted rather wearily. "If it does, my good fellow, it's none of your business. Don't bother me!" I s.h.i.+fted the other way.

"Oh, isn't it?"--his tone quickened truculently--"Well, maybe I'll make it my business!" He jerked his arm at me, continuing sharply: "Look here, you gla.s.s-eyed monkey-jack, don't you get _flip_ with me this morning"--he laughed coa.r.s.ely--"or I'll think you want some more! _Do_ you?"

I turned my head and, polis.h.i.+ng my monocle carefully, gave it a tight screw and took him in slowly, beginning with his yellow mop of hair and ending with the toes of his soiled canvas shoes. By Jove, I was _sure_ they'd never been whitened since he bought them.

I seemed to anger him. He uttered a sort of snort with a mutter uncomplimentary and strode forward, towering above me where I sat.

"_Answer_, when I'm talking to you, you sap-headed fool," he bellowed, "or I'll wring your neck! I asked if you wanted some more."

I stretched my arms, trying their muscle room in a lengthy yawn, and blinked at him with my free eye, wondering where the deuce he got the crimson hat band. By Jove, _that_ was the most dashed impertinent thing of all!

"More what?" I drawled indifferently.

"More--of _that_!"--viciously--and _thwack_ his knuckles struck against the iron back of the jolly bench. For I wasn't there, don't you know.

"Huh! Think you're some smart, don't you?" he sneered, hitching his trousers band. "Now, look here"--he leveled his finger--"you're a guest here and I know I oughtn't to do it, and I _hate_ it for Jack's sake, but I'm feeling I'll just _have_ to give you another tr.i.m.m.i.n.g this lovely morning!" He chuckled, rolling his lips and spreading them till I could see every tooth. He moved toward me leisurely, slipping up his sleeves. "What you got last night, sonny, was for your own sake, but _this_ time it's going to be for Frances'--you _fishworm_!"

"Guess we'll leave Miss Frances out of it, don't you know," I remonstrated. _Dash_ the fellow's impudence! Then, remembering I was wearing a coat of dark cheviot that was the very devil for showing every speck of dust, I slipped out of it and looked about for somewhere to hang it. Not a dashed place, of course; not a thing, you know, except nails here and there in the wooden uprights of the pergola, and of course _nails_ wouldn't do to hang a coat on. So I just folded the jolly thing carefully--very carefully, just as I had seen Jenkins do--and then I held it on my arm.

The chap had been s.h.i.+fting about me in a curve, clucking his tongue contemptuously and muttering, and getting more jolly red-eyed and abusive every minute.

"Be a man!" he snarled. "You blame tailor's dummy, be a _man_!" And he struck his chest a blow to show me what he meant.

And just then I remembered to smooth my hair-part.

"Oh, _you_--" With a growl like a bear, he swept both his hands to his head and whirled them through his great yellow pile, leaving each hair standing on end like the quills on the fretful what's-its-name. Then he danced toward me, pausing irregularly to double over with a chuckle.

"Oh, this is _too_ good!" he yelped. "But I can't help it; I jest can't refuse the money, Lizzie! I know they'll send me away for this, but--Oh, mamma!"