“I'd rather have a baby,” and she looked up at him inquiringly.
“Honest, Warbie, I can't afford it. I've lots of money, but we take a lot of keeping ourselves, and to keep a baby means almost a whole extra establishment. Let's wait till I've saved up a bit, or we have a windfall. Leathersham owes me a small fortune for his cook's ptomaine cases—she's always getting poisoned with her imported canned things—but Goldie's slow pay, and too, I want to make a few improvements on the place. I'm thinking of bringing over a Moorish Courtyard intact—nice, eh?”
“What's it good for?” demanded Warble. “We've done our courting, and anyway—look here, Bill, there's only three things I can do. Have a baby—”
“Cut it out, Warb; I haven't the means just now. And it might be twins.”
“That's so. Well, the second thing is to reform this town. It's going to the dogs—to little, silly Pekes and Poms. I can save it, and correct its ways and put it on a sound utilitarian basis.”
“Don't believe you could do that.”
“Can do. But the third trick is to flop over to their side and be like the town people myself.”
Petticoat laughed outright.
“Nixy on that, Warble, my duck. You'd have to reduce.”
“I speck I should. Well, then the reform act for mine. I've got to do something, Pet, to keep amused and interested.”