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“Well, what is he when he isn’t Brummeling?”

“There ain’t no such time. He’s always on that job. Frank is the life of our little parties on all occasions. He has his nails manicured every day and sends to Cleveland or Chicago or somewhere for his neckties—only he calls them scarves. Frank is some swell, believe me! You surely must have seen him.”

“Tall and sort of bored-looking? Wears a greenish Norfolk suit?”

“Yep, that’s Frank. You can’t always tell him by that green suit, though, for he has half a dozen if he has one. I don’t see how he does it, because his father hasn’t much coin, they say. He’s division superintendent on the railroad. I’ll bet he keeps his father poor. Anyway, he’s our best little dresser and we’re mighty proud of him.”

“You didn’t sound so a moment ago.”

“Well, I’ll tell you.” Jack changed his position with a suppressed groan. “As a thing of beauty, so to speak, as a—a picturesque feature of the local landscape—say, that’s pretty good, isn’t it? Picturesque feature of the local landscape!—Well, as one of those things he’s fine and we’re proud as can be of him. If a circus came to town we’d trot Frank out and simply run away with the honors. But as a—a regular fellow he won’t do. He’s too—oh, I don’t know what he is. I don’t like him for so many reasons that I can’t think of the first one. I always have a fearful temptation to walk on his shoes and take the shine off or bang a snowball against his hat or tie him down and put a little natural dirt under his finger-nails. Mind you, Joey, I love clean finger-nails”—he shoved his hands under him as he spoke—“but I hate to have a fellow dazzle my eyes every time he moves his hands! Besides, I object to green Norfolks and green hats with the bows in the wrong place and fancy vests—waistcoats, I mean! Gee, I’m glad Frank didn’t hear me call ’em vests! The trouble with Handsome Frank is that he’s a good-looker and someone’s told him about it. He can’t forget it for a minute. Now, I’m a handsome brute, Joey, and you’re not as homely as you might be, but we don’t go around throwing our chests out and trying to look like—like a work of art, do we? And we don’t dress up like a horse, do we? And we don’t polish our finger-nails till they shine like nice little pink pearls, do we? Let’s see yours. No, we don’t!”