Nick Dalrymple and Tod Stone began to scream inwardly and Slim was chuckling like a pet porpoise.
"Sweetie mustn't be angry with Petie, but Sweetie is sitting on Petie's 'ittle hand!" said the bride, whereupon Tod exploded and Slim began to grab for his breath.
A Dutch brewer and his wife sat right ahead of Boozey and Birdie and every once in a while the old hop puncher would turn around and beam benignly over the gold rims at the bride.
"Boozie must snuggy-wuggy up closer to his Coozie and skeeze her 'itty arm—no, no, not her waist! you naughty! naughty!"
The brewer was back at the bride with another gold-rimmed goo-goo when his wife got nervous and cut in:
"Is id you turn your face to see someding—yes?" she snapped, and the foam builder ducked to the window and began to eat scenery.
Dalrymple was almost out; Tod was under the seat sparring for wind; Slim was giving an imitation of a coal-barge in a heavy sea, and the rest of the passengers were in various stages from hiccoughs to convulsions.
"Is Boozey comfy wif his 'itty weeny teeny Birdie?" chirped the bride.
"Boozey is so happy wif his izzy-wizzy!" gurgled the husband; "how's my 'ittle girley wirly?"
"Oh! she's such a happy wappy 'ittle fing!" giggled the dotty dame, pinching her piggie's ear, whereupon the brewer tried to hand the bride another gasoline gaze, but the old lady caught him with the goods: