"
* * * * *
They went. One night, sitting on top of the Taj Mahal, 'neath the Blue Moon
of Persia, Warble cried,
"Shall I go back to Butterfly Thenter--or shall I not?"
"Spin a toddletop," said Petticoat, taking one from his pocket.
She spun it and it came up pickle foundry.
So Warble said, "All right, dear, I'll go home with you whenever you're
ready," and she kissed him slenderly.
* * * * *
Ptomaine Haul.
Two Petticoats arriving. A happy Warble sprang from the car and seemed
fairly to skim up the steps. She passed, unnoticing, the pantry door,
and flew up to her own rooms which had been done over to suit her new
slenderness.
"Beer," she cried, "look at me!"
"Maddum!" cried the astounded Beer. "What done it?"
"Unrequited love and pickles. I can wear sport clothes now!"
"Maddum can wear anything or nothing!" declared Beer triumphantly.
That night, Warble, her hands behind her, wafted into Petticoat's room.
He sat on the edge of his bed, running lingerie ribbons in his underwear.
"I'll stay, always," Warble said, sidling up to him. "And I'm happy.
But..."
"Look out! Don't let the cat get that bolt of ribbon to play with!"
She smoothed his pillows and patted his sheets, while Petticoat glanced at
her a little suspiciously, from under his gabled eyebrows.
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