“No like it?” questioned Fake, in apparent surprise. “Pretty name.”
“Sweet name,” gurgled Fraud. “We like it.”
“But I object! You’ll have to call me something else. I won’t stand for it.”
“All right,” said Fraud, in apparent disappointment.
Then she tried to get a strangle hold on Zenas, who was beginning to perspire and wish himself a thousand miles away.
“Well, you have a mighty queer notion about pretty names!” snapped the old man. “Don’t choke me! Those dancing girls are laughing—I know they are! I can see them laughing behind their veils!”
But they clung to him more closely than ever, and all his squirming was useless.
“Where’s the boss of this house?” he spluttered. “Be careful, both of you! I’m a respectable married man!”
“Nobody ever think it,” snickered Fraud.
“You be married lots more when you get us,” observed Fake.