The Haunted Pajamas
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The Haunted Pajamas
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But she wasn't thinking about me any more. Her eye fell on the tabouret, and her little hand stretched toward it.
"May I?" she said with an arch inquiring glance. "Your cigarettes look good to me. I emptied my case an hour ago."
And I proffered them with a show of alacrity. "Pray, pardon me," I said. "I – I never thought of you smoking." A chuckle came through the tiny teeth grasping the cigarette. "Thought I was too goody-goody, eh?"
I stammered something – dashed if I know what – and blinked a little gloomily as she drew a brisk fire from the flame I tendered.
Odd thing, by Jove; here I had been going to dinners, world without end, where fellows' wives and girls and sisters smoked cigarettes, and I never had thought a thing about it. But now, somehow, I didn't like it for her. Sort of thing well enough for other chaps' girls and sisters, you know, but – well, this was different, by Jove! Devilish queer thing, that, what a lot of things seem the caper for them that we don't like for "our own," eh?
And yet – oh, I say, she certainly did look fetching about it – downright bewitching, you know! I think maybe it was because she didn't fumble the thing as if she was afraid of it – as if it was just a red hot coal and going to burn her. Most of them do, you know. No, this girl really seemed to enjoy it. Inhaled the whole thing at three draws and reached for another.
"Do – er – you smoke much?" I ventured anxiously. "Cigarettes, you know?"
She pulled a sparkling half-inch as she shook her little head. I felt awfully relieved. "Not for me," she remarked carelessly. "I prefer a pipe."
"Pipe!" I repeated feebly.
The golden head inclined. "Bet you! Good old, well-seasoned brier for mine – well-caked and a little strong." Puff-puff. "Oh, damn your patent sanitary pipes, I say!"
And as backward I collapsed upon the cushions, she threw her leg over the arm of her chair and shot two long cones of smoke from her dainty nostrils.
CHAPTER VI
ARCADIAN SIMPLICITY
A moment later I had another shock.
"I don't blame you for looking at me so hard," she said, rubbing her chin and looking, I thought, a little confused. "For did you ever see a face like mine?"
"I – I never did!" I said stammeringly, for, by Jove, the question was so unexpected; but I knew I said it earnestly and with conviction in every word.
She nodded. "Never got a chance to shave, you know – caught the train by such a margin – and my kit's in that other bag. Guess I'll have to impose on you in the morning for one of your razors."
I stared at her in horror.
"Shave? You don't shave?" I protested blankly.
"Myself, you mean? Have to; I haven't got a man to do it for me." She seemed to sigh. "Not old enough yet to have a man, Jack says."
And just here her attention seemed to center on my cellarette over in the corner.
"Gee, but it's warm to-night, isn't it?" she remarked absently.
And there was nothing to do but take the hint or leave it; and after all, she was a guest, you know!
"Perhaps you will permit me to offer you some refreshment," I suggested, rising. I knew it sounded devilish stiff; and I knew, moreover, that I looked like a jolly muff, in fact.
"Perhaps I will," she chuckled. "Say, don't urge me too hard, Mr. Lightnut; you might embarrass me."
I did not want to embarrass her. "I thought perhaps a lemon soda would refresh you," I explained. "Or, if you will allow me, I will have Jenkins make you one of his famous seltzer lemonades. Perhaps, though, you would prefer just a plain – "
I halted in confusion, for she was laughing at me.
"A plain cup of tea," she gurgled, "or a crème de menthe!" And then her laughter burst deliciously. "Say, do you know, honestly, I'm only just getting on to that dry humor of yours. You've had me fooled. You do it with such a serious face, you know. Say, it's great!"
I tried to smile, but I knew it was a devilish sickly go – the more so, because just at that moment her slender fingers discarded the remnant of her last cigarette and reached for a cigar. Another instant, and she had deftly clipped and lighted it.
I decided I wouldn't ring for Jenkins.
I felt ashamed as I looked in the cellarette, and wondered what the deuce I should offer her. Couldn't think of anything I had ever heard of boarding-school girls going in for except ice-cream soda; and, dash it, I didn't have any ice-cream soda. Nearest thing would be a little seltzer and ginger ale. That would do.
"Oh, I say, I'm going to make you a highball," I said, trying to assume a frisky, jocular air.
Her voice lifted in alarm. "Nay, nay, Clarence – not for me!" she urged hastily.
"But it's only – "
"No fizzy adulterations in mine – not on your life." She followed me across the room. "Just give me the straight, pure goods – anything, just so it's whisky."
And before I could say a word – if, indeed, I could have said a word – she had selected a decanter of Scotch, and with cigar tilted upward in her tender mouth, was absorbingly pouring a shining stream of the amber fluid.
To see the slow curving of that delicately molded wrist, the challenging flash of the saucy eyes of blue, by Jove, it made me just forget all about what she was doing till the fluid ran over the brim. And then, before I could intercept her, she had lightly gestured her glass to mine, and in a flash the stuff was gone.
Gone! A full whisky glass; and I recalled with a shiver of horror that it was very high proof liquor – something I seldom touched myself, but kept on hand for certain of my friends.
"I say, you know!" I gasped in consternation.
"I'm awfully afraid that will – er – will – " I gulped wordlessly.
The coral lips curved scornfully.
"Get me jingled?" She looked as she might have if I had insulted her. "Maybe so in those girlie-girlie days you were trying to josh me about, but not since these two years I've been at college." She shook her lovely, bright head, and following a long enjoyable pull at the cigar, projected five perfect rings at a frescoed cherub in the ceiling. The exquisite eyes softened dreamily as under the spell of some pleasing thought – some tender reminiscence.
"Why, do you know," she said, looking at me earnestly, "when I was home for the holidays – " Then she paused. "Don't tell Brother Jack I told you this – will you, Mr. Lightnut? He's so sensitive about it."
"Certainly not," I said feelingly.
I thought the wistful face brightened.
"Well, when I was home, then, I put Brother Jack under the table two nights running; and you know that's going some!"
And smiling proudly, she poured out another! But not any more, for I put away the decanter.
My brain was reeling, as they say in books; dash it, I was almost sick. Poor, poor little girl! And nobody to remonstrate with her. What a shame – what a shame!
By Jove, I wondered if she would listen to me! I fixed my glass resolutely as we resumed our seats, and bent toward her earnestly.
"May I say something very seriously, Miss Billings?" I began nervously. "Without offense, you know – "