"If I can help you," she said, leading the way to a little summer house on the parsonage and shuddering as she glanced down at the nicotine stained fingers, "and I do want to help you--I'm several years older than you are--you muth tell me evewything."
"I will, I want to," said Skippy, summoning up all the powers of his imagination.
"You know," said Miss Tupper, a little embarrassed, "I heard, I couldn't help hearing all you thaid that night on the boat."
"I might as well make a clean breast of it," said Skippy, wondering where the exigencies of the situation would lead him.
"I'm afwaid Jack," said Miss Tupper sympathetically, "that your fwiend Arthur Gween ith not a vewy good influenth for you."
"Snorky?" said Skippy momentarily surprised.
"He theems to have vewy low athothiations," said Miss Tupper earnestly.
"You mean racing and jockeys and all that sort of stuff?" said Skippy, willing to follow the line of least resistance for a while. "Oh, Arthur isn't half bad."
"I don't think you thee him ath he weally ith," said Miss Tupper firmly. "No I don't think he ith at all the pwoper perthon for you to be with."
"Couldn't I help him?" said Skippy craftily. "We should always try to help, shouldn't we?"
"You would have to be vewy vewy stwong for that, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, of course," said Skippy, with his mind on the delicate arch of Miss Tupper's little foot.
Miss Tupper, who was expectantly set for an interesting confession, was somewhat disappointed at the lengthy delay.
"I'm afwaid your pawenth gave you too much money," she said finally. "It ith tho often that, ithn't it?"
There were some things that were too much even for Skippy's imagination. In the present case it absolutely refused to follow such a lead.
"No, it wasn't that," he said slowly. After all it is only the first one hundred thousand lies that are difficult. Skippy's hesitation was brief. He remembered the episode of the fictitious Tina Tanner that had so often served him in delicate moments.
"I almost made a wreck of my life," he began, frowning terrifically.
"She wasn't a bad sort; only,--well stage life is different."
"She was an actress," said Skippy nodding.
"I ran away from home. They never understood me. Family fight. Swore I'd never set foot in the old house again. Cut for the West. You get to see a rough side of life like that you know, mining camps, mule drivers, lumber men. Good sorts," he added reflectively, "but wild, very wild. You couldn't understand."