“If you can!” exclaimed Miss Abby, her sarcasm entirely unveiled. “Alvord Hendricks would walk the plank if you invited him to do so!”
“Who wouldn’t?” laughed Embury. “I have the same confidence in my wife’s powers of persuasion that you seem to have, Aunt Abby; and though I may impose on her, I do want her to use them upon me deadly r-rival!”
“You mean rival in your club election,” returned Miss Ames, “but he is also your rival in another way.”
“Don’t speak so cryptically, Aunt, dear. We all know of his infatuation for Eunice, but he’s only one of many. Think you he is more dangerous than, say, friend Elliott?”
“Mason Elliott? Oh, of course, he has been an admirer of Eunice since they made mud-pies together.”
“That’s two, then,” Embury laughed lightly. “And Jim Craft is three and Halliwell James is four and Guy Little—”
“Oh, don’t include him, I beg of you!” cried Eunice; “he flats when he sings!”
“Well, I could round up a round dozen, who would willingly cast sheeps’ eyes at my wife, but—well, they don’t!”
“They’d better not,” laughed Eunice, and Embury added, “Not if I see them first!”
“Isn’t it funny,” said Aunt Abby, reminiscently, “that Eunice did choose you out of that Cambridge bunch.”