But Greyboar thought it was a great idea. And when they heard the idea from Greyboar later that evening, Jenny and Angela thought it was a great idea too.
“Oh, that’ll be wonderful!” said Jenny. “Sure we’ll try to help you spring your lady!” said Angela. And before you could say a thing, they were hauling out cloth by the yard and planning out their fancy dresses.
I was still against the whole idea, but nobody was paying the slightest attention to me. Greyboar and Jenny and Angela plotted it out while they were working on the dresses. I contributed the voice of sanity, but nobody was listening to my protests. I especially started protesting when I got roped into the scheme.
Angela’s doing, that was. After they’d finished the dresses, her face fell, and she started shaking her head vigorously.
“It’ll never work,” she said. “It’ll never work, just me and Jenny. You never see two young noble ladies out by themselves. They’re always with a chaperone. We need a chaperone.”
At first, I was smiling like the sunshine. She was right, bless the little darling! And Greyboar and I didn’t know any sour-faced old women; at least, not any who’d go in on this scheme!
Greyboar said as much. And that’s that, I said to myself.
“But it doesn’t have to be an old woman chaperone,” said Jenny. “Lots of times it’s an old man, a tutor like, a little tiny guy all shriveled up, looking like he’s worn out and worried about everything.”
All eyes turned to me. I was outraged.
My first sentences, expressing my total disagreement with the idea, were possibly not coherent. But I was soon able to demolish the scheme.
“It’s impossible!” I sprang to my feet, spread my arms wide. “Look at me! I’m the picture of health! Straight as an arrow! Vigorous! Handsome! Look at my face! Cheerful! Debonair! Look at the rakish goatee—the suave mustachioes!”
“He’s right,” said Angela. And the two hoydens from hell got out the scissors and started cutting. Greyboar held me down.
“It’s really a great idea!” squealed Angela. “He’s so tiny already he won’t even have to stoop! Just put him in a big coat and everybody’ll think he’s worn out by a lifetime of teaching stupid little girls!”
I made several remarks concerning stupid little girls. Jenny chucked me under the chin and cooed: “We don’t care if you’re a shrimp, Iggy. We think you’re cute.”
Then, after I’d been shorn of my hair and bundled into a greatcoat, I tried again: “It still won’t work! I just don’t have the right air about me! I ask you—do I look worn out? Exhausted by life’s cares? Ridiculous!”
All three of them stared at me. Then Jenny and Angela looked at Greyboar and smiled sweetly.
“Greyboar, why don’t you come back tomorrow morning?” suggested Jenny.
“Not too early,” added Angela.
Chapter 17.
The Cat in a Box
When Greyboar showed up the next morning, the girls
brought me out, all bundled up. I’ve got to admit, the costume they designed was perfect. And I could hardly stand up.
“There’s still the one big problem,” said Angela, frowning.
“That stupid grin he’s got plastered all over his face,” complained Jenny. “It just doesn’t go with the image we’re looking for.”
“No problem,” rumbled Greyboar. “I’ll take care of that.”
Not more than ten minutes later, the girls and I were on our way to the courthouse in a carriage Greyboar had hired. By now, I had to admit, the plan just might work. I was dressed the part, I probably did look like I was exhausted to the point of death, and I certainly bore on my face the look of a man worried about everything. Of course, I wasn’t worried about everything. I was worried about just one thing. The Thumbs of Eternity. Greyboar had been most explicit.
“You choke, I choke. So don’t blow your lines.”
Believe it or not, it worked like a charm. Angela and Jenny were perfect. They looked like the sunshine to begin with, and dressed in their finery—I mean, who could possibly have taken them for lowlifes bent on undoing the Royal Justice?