“I’d like to; you’re so sweet,” said the camel gallantly.
Each time the ringmaster shouted his call of “Men up!” he lumbered ferociously for Betty with the cardboard wienerwurst or the photograph of the bearded lady or whatever the favor chanced to be. Sometimes he reached her first, but usually his rushes were unsuccessful and resulted in intense interior arguments.
“For Heaven’s sake,” Perry would snarl, fiercely between his clenched teeth, “get a little pep! I could have gotten her that time if you’d picked your feet up.”
“Well, gimme a little warnin’!”
“I did, darn you.”
“I can’t see a dog-gone thing in here.”
“All you have to do is follow me. It’s just like dragging a load of sand round to walk with you.”
“Maybe you wanta try back here.”
“You shut up! If these people found you in this room they’d give you the worst beating you ever had. They’d take your taxi license away from you!”
Perry surprised himself by the ease with which he made this monstrous threat, but it seemed to have a soporific influence on his companion, for he gave out an “aw gwan” and subsided into abashed silence.