"None of your 'poor dears' to my daughter, you jailbird!" screamed Mr. Whedell.
"Now, don't get excited, father-in-law."
"How dare you call me father-in-law, sir!"
"Perhaps you prefer the more endearing epithet of 'poppy,' sir?"
"Monster! will you leave my house?"
"Have you any good old brandy on hand?" asked Chiffield.
"Brandy! No. If you want brandy, sir, go to the d---l for it."
"Not quite so far, thank you," retorted Chiffield the genial; "but I don't mind walking to the next corner for a smash."
Chiffield rose, put on his hat, and stepped toward the door.
"Good-by, wifey. I sha'n't be gone long."