On the instant, in a flash, quicker than thought, without one word of apology or glance of farewell, the Illuminat of Illinois shot from the side of his Soul Mate, straight into that yawning doorway and was swallowed up in a sudden, blinding glare of light.
"Oh, Bill! Bill! Bill! What have you done?"--and a woman's wild scream rent the atmosphere.
And no wonder our heroine, standing there in the doorway, was upset. No wonder she clutched at her pompadour in frenzy. No wonder she shook like several leaves. The suddenness of her admirer's departure was so very--in fact--sudden.
After she had shrieked she leaned against the door-jamb, gazing incoherently at that which she saw.
It was now Bill's turn to laugh, and this he did, long, loud and uproariously. Then he shouted in a triumphant crescendo,--"Hi, there, my lady--catch onto the display. And well you may squeal at the sight of your old familiar pig-wheel. Dollars to doughnuts you never shackled as slim a one as this at the yard. Say, watch him. He's in the swim sure, ain't he? See him swing--round toward the sticker. That's me. D'ye hear, madam? I'm the sticker in this yard. And he's coming to the knife in fine style. Now watch me close, for he's going to land against the point this time, and then--Aha! ha! ha!--and then--the last hot water plunge, and--"
"Oh, my Lonnie, my Llama!" wailed Mrs. V.
"Aha!--your Astral Mate got a move on him that time. Go ask him if he has any fresh data on affinities. Ask him how he likes this newest _attraction_."
"Brute!"--and, dashing past her husband, the distracted lady rushed to the rescue of her primordial mate. She flung herself wildly into the workshop from which she had been so long excluded.
The picture presented to her gaze as she crossed the threshold struck terror to her soul. All at once Mrs. Vanderhook felt weak as boiled water. She clasped her hands in frantic protest.
"Get onto his curves" bawled Bill. "What d'ye think of your Lonnie Bird now? He's off his perch, ain't he? Never miss a Mystic when he moults. And here's your Lonnie Lammie--at shearing time. Here's your little piggy-wiggy on a hook. Here's your-r-r-r"--and the angry husband wound himself up in a knot of words and spluttered off into monosyllabic ravings.