“I say, let’s celebrate. I’m dead tired of this lonesomeness down in the coal bins—and—now, the fact is, Genesy”—and Bill went on gaily,—“I’ve anticipated our reconciliation and I want you both to come down to my workshop. I’ve got a nice little layout for you in the laboratory. Of course, I know Leff isn’t much on vittles—but I do know Genesy likes the pop of a cork. Don’t you, old girl?”
“You better believe,” assented Imogene. “And did you really get some Extra Dry?—I—”
“Well, you just come and see what I’ve got for you. As the French say, this is an ock-kazh-un. We’ll just pop a few corks. Let’s agree to swallow the past in a couple of pints of Mumm’s best, and—come along or the ice will melt.” And he half pulled and half pushed Mrs. Vanderhook toward the inside cellar-way.
The Mystic followed slowly, haltingly, and then hurried on to Imogene’s side.
“I have a presentiment”—he murmured.
“Of what, Lonnie Llama?” tenderly.
“Alas, I know not what; but I am seldom left on these impressions. Let’s not go into the cellar.”
“Why, what can he do to an astral man? He couldn’t hurt you if he tried.”
In her eagerness Imogene spoke loud enough for her husband to hear.
Bill Vanderhook appeared to be smoking a cigar. In reality he was gnashing his teeth. Alonzo said no more, but laid his hand apprehensively over the region formerly occupied by a heart.