"
Mrs. Annis smiled on him graciously. "I am home every Sunday to my
_intimes_," she murmured. "I should be so pleased."
Bob bowed mechanically.
"You infernal idiot!" he ground out savagely to Baker, as they moved
away. "What do you mean? I'll punch your fool head when I get you out of
here!"
But the plump young man merely smiled.
Halfway down the room a group of attractive-looking young men hailed
them.
"Join in, Baker," said they. "Bring your friend along. We're just going
to raid the commissary."
But Baker shook his head.
"I'm showing him life," he replied. "None but Fuzzies in his to-night!"
He grasped Bob firmly by the arm and led him away.
"That," he said, indicating a very pale young man, surrounded by women,
"is Pickering, the celebrated submarine painter."
"The what?" demanded Bob.
"Submarine painter. He paints fish and green water and lobsters, and the
bottom of the sea generally. He paints them on the skins of kind-faced
little calves."
"What does he do that for?"
"He says it's the only surface that will express what he wants to. He
has also invented a waterproof paint that he can use under water.
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