“You’re carrying me!”
“Oh, no! We’re playing lawn-tennis.”
“Goodness! You fairly grabbed me.”
“Perhaps I ought to have asked your permission, but if I had you might have refused it.”
She laughed. “I think I should.”
“It’s too late now,” he said contentedly. “Does the foot hurt?”
“Not much, thank you—thank you, Mr.——”
He was obdurately silent. She tried again.
“Thank you, Mr. ——. Please, what’s your name?”
“‘Puddin’ Tame,’” he laughed.