“There,” said Verbeena, “that’s that! I’d like to see Lady Speedway open her ole fish-mouth when our caravan pulls into Biscuit again, hey, Amut?”
“Har-har-har!” exclaimed the Sheik with well-timed, impromptu heartiness.
“Spaghetti,” next said Verbeena, “you can serve dinner now. And go light on the use of the Italian national flower in your cooking or you’ll hear from me.
“Hulda, rip down that bunch of moth-eaten hangings. They’re an eyesore. I’ll get some decent chintz curtains as soon as we get to town. And pick up all those revolvers and daggers and such truck and throw them into the store tent.”
She turned again to the Sheik.
“You’ll have to get up and get out early to-morrow, Mutty, dear, because I shall simply have to start housecleaning first thing in the morning.”
“As Allah wills, my love.”
“Nonsense. I’m sick of this stuff of putting everything up to Allah. You’ll just get up and do it on your own account, do you hear?”
“You betcher,” said Sheik Amut Ben Butler right on the dot.