"I might have known it," said the stranger. "I've heard a good deal about Mr. Crow. Well, what's the answer?"
"That's what I want to know," snapped Anderson. "What is the answer? What kind are they? And how many have you got?"
The stranger was on the point of exploding with indignation when his fair companion intervened.
"Leave it to me, George dear. You always fly into such a temper. If you'd only let me attend to the small things, while you look out for the big ones, we'd get along so much better. Wouldn't we, Mr. Crow?"
She appealed to Mr. Crow so abruptly and so sweetly that he said he guessed so before he could check himself.
"If you will stay here until we find a key that will fit, Mr. Crow, you will see with your own eyes what will make them pop out of your head."
"Mort, you keep away from that box, I say!" commanded Anderson, now sure of his ground. "Do you want to get bit?"
"Oh, dear me, they won't bite you!" cried the young lady. "I promise you they are most amiable. I have been handling them for several weeks and—"
Her husband interrupted her. He revealed symptoms of increasing annoyance.
"See here, let's get busy and open this thing. They've got to be fed, you know,—and it's all damned poppycock discussing the matter any longer."