At this juncture, Fake threw her arms round the professor.
“You be next one?” she asked. “Like you much. You be old Lobster.”
“What’s that? Old Lobster?”
“Pretty name,” cooed Fraud, from the other side, cuddling on his shoulder. “We like old Lobster, Fake.”
“You bet your back teeth!” elegantly retorted Fake. “We like him lot. Pull his leg.”
“Well, you’re frank in proclaiming your intentions, at least!” gasped Zenas.
At this moment the strange music began again, and the dancing girls reappeared, posing and pirouetting, the tiny bells on their bare ankles tinkling in a lively manner.
Zenas tried to untangle himself from the twining arms of the two favorites, but they declined to be thrust aside.
“No! no!” they cried. “Keep so. Like it, old Lobster.”
“Old Lobster!” grated Gunn. “Say, my dears, you’ll please me if you call me something else. I don’t like the name you have selected for me.”