"Oh, you are too particular, Bliss," returned a good-looking chap with a Southern drawl. "Who's seen my studs? I hope there'll be some pretty girls there to-night."
"Say, I'd like to get into Hollingsworth's trunk," remarked Bliss. "These heelers take too much room anyhow. He 's got a washline full of shirts. It 's enough to make him bilious."
John Hollingsworth, who was already dressed in an immaculate suit, closed the trunk lid with a snap.
"Go to thunder!" he said; "wear your own shirts." Then he turned to the looking-glass, and brazenly inspected his shadowy mustache.
"If you get on the wrong key to-night, Tommy Wilson," said Emory Smith, the Glee Club leader, knocking a short youth on the top of the head with his ebony baton, "I'll have you sued for breach of contract."
"He'll be sued for breach of promise before he gets through with this trip," said a deep bass voice from another compartment. "The way he carried on with that little yaller-haired thing at Kansas City was scandalous. Let's chain him up to-night."
