"Don't you my-dear me," she sniffed. "I don't like you."
"Why?"
"Cos . . ." She ladled the punch carefully into the mugs and meditated. "Cos you chew tobacco. Cos you're whiskery. Wot I take to is smooth-faced young chaps."
"Don't take any stock in her nonsense," the Fraction King warned, "She just does it a-purpose to get me mad."
"Now then!" she commanded, sharply. "Step up to your licker! 'Ere's 'ow!"
"What'll it be?" cried Blanche from the stove.
The elevated mugs wavered and halted.
"The Queen, Gawd bless 'er!" the Virgin toasted promptly.
"And Bill!" Del Bishop interrupted.
Again the mugs wavered.