“Of course we ought,” said King. “And I’ll never tickle the soles of Kit’s feet again, dagger or no dagger.”
“I’m glad of that!” said Kitty, fervently, “for, oh, King, I do hate it!”
“All right, old girl. You can play bootless Brutus whenever you like, and I won’t tickle you a speck. But your black feet looked so funny coming out from under your white togga.”
“White what?” said Doctor Mendel, curiously.
“Her togga. We were all being Romans, you know.”
“Oh, I see. Well, you must pronounce that with a long o, my boy; it’s toga.”
“All right, sir; toga, then. But I don’t believe we’ll ever play ‘Julius Cæsar’ again.”
“Not with Rosy Posy, anyhow,” said Kitty, decidedly.
“But she made a lovely Cæsar,” said Midget, reminiscently.
“She must have!” said the doctor, chuckling. “A five-year-old baby girl seems just right for the part!”