Mr. Van Pycke came down stairs even more tenderly than he went up. There was a look of pain in his face, and he walked slack-kneed, with his toes turned in a trifle. He was wearing a pair of trousers that had been constructed for a much larger man, except as to height.
"The shoes are too small and the trousers too big," he groaned. "I'm leaving my own up there to be dried out. Bellows says they'll be dry in half an hour. I had to put these on for a while. One can't go around with--er--nothing on, so to speak."
"I'm trying to think who's in there that wears trousers of that size--and shape," murmured Bosworth, surveying his father critically.
"Bah!" rasped the uncomfortable Mr. Van Pycke. "Announce us, Bellows."
Bellows opened the drawing-room door, took a quick peep within, and then, standing aside, announced in his most impressive tones:
The two gentlemen stepped into the long, dimly lighted room. Bellows disappeared quickly down the hall. Mr. Van Pycke, his sense of dignity increased by the desire to offset the only too apparent lack of it, advanced into the middle of the room, politely smiling for the benefit of a group of ladies and gentlemen congregated at the lower end, near the windows. So far as he could see, they were engaged in the vulgar occupation known as staring.
Bosworth Van Pycke stopped just inside the door, clapping his hand to his forehead. His mouth fell open and his eyes popped wide with amazement--almost horror. He sat down suddenly in the nearest chair and continued to gaze blankly at the figures down the room. He heard his father say "Good evening" twice, but he heard no response from the group. His abrupt, incontrollable guffaw of understanding and joy caused his now annoyed parent to whirl upon him in surprise.
"Oh, this is rich!" Bosworth was holding his sides, laughing immoderately.
"Bosworth!" hissed his father, with a conscious glance at his feet and legs. "What the devil amuses you?"
For answer his son strode over and clutched him by the arm, turning him around so that he faced the silent, immovable group.
"See that man back there without trousers? The bare-legged, bare-footed chap? Well, dad, you've got on his pants."
"Good God!" gasped Mr. Van Pycke, nervously hunting for the bridge of his nose with his glasses. "Is the poor fellow naked?"