“Dogs are always crazy ’bout me,” they heard him say, for his high voice was but too audible over all other sounds.  “Dogs and chuldren.  I dunno why it is, but they always take to me.  My name’s George Crooper, Third, Johnnie Watson’s cousin.  He was tryin’ to intradooce me before the car came along, but he never got the chance.  I guess as this shindig’s for you, and I’m the only other guest from out o’ town, we’ll have to intradooce ourselves—­the two guests of honor, as it were.”

Miss Pratt laughed her silvery laugh, murmured politely, and turned no freezing glance upon her neighbor.  Indeed, it seemed that she was far from regarding him with the distaste anticipated by William and Joe Bullitt.  “Flopit look so toot an’ tunnin’,” she was heard to remark.  “Flopit look so ’ittle on dray, big, ’normous man’s lap.”

Mr. Crooper laughed deprecatingly.  “He does look kind of small compared with the good ole man that’s got charge of him, now!  Well, I always was a good deal bigger than the fellas I went with.  I dunno why it is, but I was always kind of quicker, too, as it were—­and the strongest in any crowd I ever got with.  I’m kind of musclebound, I guess, but I don’t let that interfere with my quickness any.  Take me in an automobile, now—­I got a racin’-car at home—­and I keep my head better than most people do, as it were.  I can kind of handle myself better; I dunno why it is.  My brains seem to work better than other people’s, that’s all it is.  I don’t mean that I got more sense, or anything like that; it’s just the way my brains work; they kind of put me at an advantage, as it were.  Well, f’rinstance, if I’d been livin’ here in this town and joined in with the crowd to get up this party, well, it would of been done a good deal diff’rent.  I won’t say better, but diff’rent.  That’s always the way with me if I go into anything, pretty soon I’m running the whole shebang; I dunno why it is.  The other people might try to run it their way for a while, but pretty soon you notice ’em beginning to step out of the way for good ole George.  I dunno why it is, but that’s the way it goes.  Well, if I’d been running this party I’d of had automobiles to go out in, not a trolley-car where you all got to sit together—­and I’d of sent over home for my little racer and I’d of taken you out in her myself.  I wish I’d of sent for it, anyway.  We could of let the rest go out in the trolley, and you and I could of got off by ourselves:  I’d like you to see that little car.  Well, anyway, I bet you’d of seen something pretty different and a whole lot better if I’d of come over to this town in time to get up this party for you!”

“For us,” Miss Pratt corrected him, sunnily.

“Bofe strangers—­party for us two—­all bofe!” And she gave him one of her looks.

Mr. Crooper flushed with emotion; he was annexed; he became serious.  “Say,” he said, “that’s a mighty smooth hat you got on.”  And he touched the fluffy rim of it with his forefinger.  His fat shoulders leaned toward her yearningly.