“Enjoy myself? With him?” Myra said, jerking her thumb at Bogle. “I’d rather walk around with a typhoid epidemic.”
I thought she had something there, but I kept my opinion to myself.
“What you need,” Bogle said, leaning across the table, “is a smack in the slats.”
If the slats were where I thought they were, I felt he had something, too.
“Quiet!” Ansell snapped. “We’re wasting too much time.” He looked at Myra severely,
“Young lady, you’re deliberately aggravating him. I warn you, I’m not standing much more of this.”
Myra laughed. “I’ll be good, poppa, honest I will,” she said, and patted his hand. “Now, tell me all about it.”
Ansell looked at her suspiciously. “You seem to forget that you can’t afford to be funny,” he said.
“Aw, skip it, Doc,” I broke in. “Why don’t you say what you want to say and stop nagging the girl?”
Ansell looked a little surprised, “I’m trying to, but there’re so many interruptions.”