"Not to me. I think it suggests salaams."
"No, Edgar—slams; but I don't want to joke."
"I'm sure of it," interpolated the guitar-playing one.
"Stop that noise a minute, please."
He obeyed.
"I wish you wouldn't speak of father so coldly."
"Then it'll be likely to be hotly, and at that you'd make a fuss," returned the youth doggedly.
"He is a good father," declared the girl, the lingering words coming devoutly.
"Yes," retorted Edgar drily. "Perhaps, if your little day-dream could come true and you be the son, you wouldn't think so."