For reply he fumbled in the pockets of his dust-coat and brought forth a small package.
“Oh, yes. Here it is. Pretty insignificant affair to make such a fuss about,” and he handed it to her.
“It’s the little things that mean the most, my dear husband—like that,” she said significantly, “and this,” and she kissed him for his reward.
He held her away from him and looked at her good-humoredly—the quizzical humor that was characteristic of him.
“You never kiss me unless you’re up to some mischief, Patty.”
“Then you ought to be glad I’m mischievous, Mort. It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good.”
“H—m. Why all the mystery? Can’t you tell a fellow?”
She shook her head.
“No.”