“I didn’t live in Los Angeles all my life,” returned Compton.
“Oh, say, uncle,” cried Bobby, all out of breath, “there’s a reporter man here and he wants to take my picture.”
The two men glanced at each other.
“Behold the entrance to the gates of fame,” exclaimed Moore, airily waving his pipe.
“Come on, Bobby,” said Compton, “I’ll go with you.”
“Say, uncle, what’s a Lothario?”
“Eh?” queried the amazed comedian.
“A L-o-t-h-a-r-i-o?” spelled the boy.
“Why, that’s the name of a person.”
“Is your name Lothario, uncle?”