“I see,” said Bink Stubbs, “that idiocy among the female sex is decreasing.”
“There are ladies present,” said Harry severely, as he glared at Bink. “Thus you are saved for the time.”
“Here!” cried Griswold, taking down a gilded horseshoe from the wall and offering it to the other little chap. “Take it. You’re dead in luck.”
Stubbs regarded the horseshoe doubtfully.
“Do you regard horseshoes as lucky?” he asked.
“Of course,” was the answer.
“Then,” said Bink, “the horse I bet on the last time was running barefooted. Cluck, cluck; git ap!”
“Bah!” retorted Danny. “A clean swipe out of the comic column of some paper. Say, who’s your favorite writer, anyhow?”
“My father.”
“Your father?”