suit nothing was more chaste and recherché than a nice bright red scarf.
“And, anyway, you wild Westerner,” he shouted from across the passage, “it’s not for the likes of you to be setting up as an authority on masculine attire. If you had your way you’d go to dinner in chaps and a sombrero!” When they had reached the table, Chub glanced over the menu with a disappointed expression, and shook his head. “That’s the trouble with these hotels,” he said. “There’s no variety. This bill’s just about the same as last night’s. The only difference is that they’ve called the soups by different names and substituted flounder—which they call sole—for bluefish.”
“The ice-cream’s different,” said Dick cheerfully. But Chub refused to be placated.
“It has another name,” he said darkly, “but you wait until you try it. It will taste the same as last night’s!”
But he recovered his equanimity as the meal progressed. He heroically denied himself a second helping of cream pie, recalling the fact that there was to be a hop that evening. “It’s hard
