He regarded her scornfully.
“As a man who gave up eighty-six cents American cash to Musty Ale for your possession—and this I did—shall you accuse me of kidnapping you for ransom?”
“Then why—why—O, gosh, if only your hair and whiskers matched! But I know Spaghetti lied.”
“‘Bout what?”
“He said he didn’t know of your ever having any other girl but me.”
“Well, naturally,” the Sheik frowned dangerously, “Spaghetti knows better than to do any gossipin’ while I’m gone. Still it is true, Verbie, that you are the first one I have ever taken caravaning. As for the others——”
“The others! O, golly, golly me!” she sobbed. “Listen to him—the way he says it—the others—the others! Just like that!”
“Why, of course,” he said with a light insouciance that was paramountedly the pinnacle of intense impropriety. “Let’s see—there have been Ayah and Beeyah, Ceeyah and Deeyah, Eeyah, Effa, Geeyah, Aicha, Aihyah, Jayah, Kayah, Ella, Emma, Ennapeayah, Queahra, Essatee, Dubla, Exa, little Whyzee and,” the Sheik Amut sent a thin stream of supercilious, insolent cigarette smoke at the trembling Verbeena, “so forth. But you notice there was a ‘V’ missing from the collection.”
“And so you——”
“Partly—partly. But there was another, by Allah, a deeper reason.”