He disposed of half a dozen cushions, draped two flags and carefully placed three photographs amid the gallery on his bureau.
"Do you think that's honorable?" said Snorky resentfully.
"Scalps, that's all!" said Skippy with a grandiloquent wave of his hand.
"I get you. Heart whole and fancy free etcetera etceteray?"
Skippy allowed this to pass, but having pensively contemplated the effect produced by the addition of Miss Dolly Travers, Miss Jennie Tupper and Miss Vivi Balou to the adoring galaxy of the past, he swung a leg over the table and assuming that newly acquired manner of a man of the world, which was specially galling to his chum, announced,
"You do. There's nothing in that fussing game. Women, my boy, are our inferiors."
"Well, it took you some time to find it out."
"Keerect, but now I'm wise. Woman is like a harp in the desert, played upon by every passing wind."
"If you're going in for that sort of thing get promiscuous. The only cure for one woman is another."
"Are you corresponding with Margarita?" said Skippy suddenly.
"Woman--" he began sententiously and just then fate knocked at the door.
"Come in if you're good-looking," said Snorky, glad of the interruption.
The door opened and discovered a short bulbous freshman, just a whit embarrassed as freshmen should be in the presence of royalty.
"Oh well, come in any way," said Skippy. "What's your name, freshman!"
"Potterman," said the rotund youngster squeezing in.
"What's the rest of it--the handle, the nickname."
"Are we telling our real names?" said the new arrival, cocking his derby.
"Green, get out the bamboo cane," said Skippy solemnly.
"Oh well, they call me Hippo--sir," said Potterman hastily.
"Ah yes, Hippo Potterman. Of course. That's good, but we'll try to do better by you. Where did they find you?"
"What's that you've got there?" said Snorky just about to fall upon him bodily.
"Please, sir, it's a letter from Mrs. Bedelle, your aunt."
"Oh, I see," said Skippy with a feeling of disappointment. "You know my aunt? Well, freshman, you may give it to me. I permit you. Advance. That's it. Curtsey. A little lower. Better."
My very dear friend Susan Potterman is sending her son Cornelius--
Skippy frowned and looked up incredulously.