"
"What do they say?"
"Well, I hate to stir up trouble, but since you began it, I may as well
own up they think you're just about as lowbrow as they come. And I s'pose
you are."
"Oh, well. And what about the girls? Are they jealous of me?"
"Sort of. Lotta says if you cut her out with Trymie Icanspoon, she'll
elope with me."
"And will she?"
"Not if I reach the ticket office first. Besides, I like Iva better."
"Oh, Bill, don't you love me any more?"
"Course I do, Little Fudge Sundae. But a popular doctor has
responsibilities."
"I know. I don't mean to be unreasonable. But let's keep peace in the
family as long as it's convenient--see what I mean?" "I see. Do you think
I'd like my new pajims better trimmed with frilled malines, or just
decorated with a conventional pattern of gold soutache braid?"
Warble, sitting on the other end of the now separated _chaise longue_ made
no reply, except to scratch her leg a little.
Petticoat yawned, took a stroll round the room, tried on a new dressing
gown, mixed himself a highball, smoked three cigarettes, glanced through
"What the Swell-dressed Man can Spare," wound his watch, put out his
Angora cat, yawned again, sneezed twice, stomped out in the hall and back,
and then went and stood in front of the fireplace, teetering on his heels.
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