But  to  understand  the  story  one  must  turn
back  a  year  or  so  to  the  time  when  Mr.  Peter
Spillikins  used  to  walk  on  Plutoria  Avenue
alone,  or  sit  in  the  Mausoleum  Club  listening
to  the  advice  of  people  who  told  him  that  he
really  ought  to  get  married.
•  •  •  •  •

In  those  days  the  first  thing  that  one  noticed
about  Mr.  Peter  Spillikins  was  his  exalted  view
of  the  other  sex.    Every  time  he  passed  a  beau-

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Arcadian  Adventures  with  the  Idle  Rich

tiful  woman  in  the  street  he  said  to  himself,  "I
say!"  Even  when  he  met  a  moderately  beauti-
ful one  he  murmured,  "By  Jove!"  When  an
Easter  hat  went  sailing  past,  or  a  group  of  sum-
mer parasols  stood  talking  on  a  leafy  corner,
Mr.  Spillikins  ejaculated,  "My  word!"  At  the
opera  and  at  tango  teas  his  projecting  blue  eyes
almost  popped  out  of  his  head.
Similarly,  if  he  happened  to  be  with  one  of
his  friends,  he  would  murmur,  "I  say,  do  look
at  that  beautiful  girl,"  or  would  exclaim,  "I
say,  don't  look,  but  isn't  that  an  awfully  pretty
girl  across  the  street?"  or  at  the  opera,  "Old
man,  don't  let  her  see  you  looking,  but  do  you
see  that  lovely  girl  in  the  box  opposite?"

One  must  add  to  this  that  Mr.  Spillikins,  in
spite  of  his  large  and  bulging  blue  eyes,  enjoyed
the  heavenly  gift  of  short  sight.  As  a  conse-
quence he  lived  in  a  world  of  amazingly  beauti-
ful women.  And  as  his  mind  was  focussed  in
the  same  way  as  his  eyes  he  endowed  them  with
all  the  virtues  and  graces  which  ought  to  adhere
to  fifty-dollar  flowered  hats  and  cerise  parasols
with  ivory  handles.
