"We desire to bite our autograph on your wish-bone," one voice replied pleasantly.
"Great Scott!" I shouted, "why do you wish to bite one who is a stranger to you?"
"You have a wife who is spending a few weeks and a few dollars at the Jersey seashore, is it not so?" inquired the hoarsest voice.
"Heaven help me, I have," I answered, manfully.
"She is at Cheesehurst-by-the-Sea?" that awful voice went on.
"She is," I admitted it.
"Well, yesterday evening she slapped her forehead suddenly and killed the bread-winner of this family," the voice shrieked, "and we are here for revenge!"
"What are your names, please?" I whispered.
"My name is Clementina Stinger, and with me is my son, little Willie Stinger, formerly of Cheesehurst-by-the-Sea," the voice answered.
I sat there listening while my knees shook for the drinks.