“What did you do with it?” she countered.
“It?”
“The swag.”
Bob started to withdraw his arm but she clapped a small warm hand on his big warm hand and held his strong right arm about her slim, adaptable waist. Her head trailed on his shoulder, while she started floating off in dreamland.
“I just love eloping,” she murmured.
“What was that last word?” he observed combatively.
“Elope! elope! elope!” she whispered dreamily, her slim, young feminine figure close to his big masculine bulk.
“So you think you’re eloping with me?” said Bob ominously.
“I know I am.” In that musical die-away tone. “We’re headed straight for old New York and we’re going to get married in the little church around the corner. Then”—with a happy laugh—“we may have to disguise ourselves and flee.”
“May I kindly inquire—that is, if I have any voice in our future operations—why we may have to disguise ourselves?”