Billy. You see I is in training for a yacht race, an’ my trainer says dat I must hab a ham-sandwich at eight o’clock ebery night, or——
Mrs. S. Go on, Billy.
Billy. It’s crowding onto eight, now. Tumble?
Mrs. S. What?
Billy. Has the sandwich snap struck you yet?
Mrs. S. Oh, you would like a sandwich?
Billy. I could make love to one beautifully.
Mrs. S. You shall have two, Billy, if you want them.
Billy. Well, make it three; three’s company; two ain’t.
Mrs. S. Certainly. George!