“You’re horrid!”
He pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her.
“Dear little one!” he cried. Taking her head between his hands, he shook it. “Hear ’em rattle!”
“But I love a pipe,” stated Guy emphatically. “The trouble is, I never had a really nice one before.”
“There!” exclaimed the girl triumphantly. “And you know Sherlock Holmes always smoked a pipe.”
Her brother knitted his brows.
“I don’t quite connect,” he announced.
“Well, if you need a diagram, isn’t Guy an author?” she demanded.
“Not so that any one could notice it—yet,” demurred Evans.
“Well, you’re going to be!” said the girl proudly.