Produced by Tim Lindell, David Wilson and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) SPLASHING INTO SOCIETY SPLASHING INTO SOCIETY BY IRIS BARRY [Illustration] NEW YORK E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 681 Fifth Avenue Copyright, 1923 By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY _All Rights Reserved_ _Printed in the United States of America_ CHAPTER ONE [Illustration: Music] Such were the stranes that smote the air as Mr. Harold Withersquash drew near to the humbel home of his Selia. She was just a low born girl but none could beat her at playing the piano. Mr. Withersquash mutered: “She will do,” and wrapt the door with a clatter. Now Selia’s ma had shortly done her days wash, being Tuesday, and she came and opened the door in a forbidable stile, not being in the best of moods. “What is it now?” snapt she at our hero, and sniffled in her nose, for she was a rum lady and corshus as well as cross. “Ah, good-morning, good-morning,” lisped Mr. Withersquash in rather a sloppy mode for to make no mystery she had cut the land from his feet by her plane ways. “Selia!” the good woman borled, “Come on out and never mind your hair-curlers, it’s only young Withersquash again.” She knew no better than to be so plane, not having edducation. “Dezist moddam,” cried Mr. Withersquash, “and list. My unckle Burt is dead!” “Him dead, well I never!” the chaste ample matron replied with a kindly twist at her handsom broch of platted hares, “What ever next!” But now the delicious Selia pushed past her ma’s elbow, she was a fair rose of Briton, rather false hair like we see advertised, her somewhat perfect nose would scarse be noticed to have been turned up, owing to sleeping on her stomache, and she wore a nice dress of white embrery, a good few broches and some yellow stockings. “Your unckle dead?” she asked. Mr. Withersquash grappling her hand in fierce welcome of joy, replied: “Yes, and he has left me a good bit.” “Ah, Harold!” cried our young heroine pushing more forward, “are you in truth rich?” “Well, not so bad,” our little gentleman replied. “I am quite well to do.” Selia’s ma now stept off to think this news over. “Go on!” uttered Selia in amaze. “True as I stand here,” ansered Mr. Withersquash making himself very important. “Well, what of it?” said she, for if Selia had a motto it was no nonsense. “Well,” he said, “I thought as you and me are a bit third class why not lets go to some places and get into socierty and have a run for our money,” and he slapt his manly bosom, although that was only his way, for he was but a paltry figure as see in the illustrations, and emploid at the 6½d. bazaar, nuff said. “When shall we start?” said Selia, after she had pondered speedily, for she was one to loose no time.