"Watch on whom you're spilling the rye," Red flared. I apologized, and in my philanthropic state stooped to kiss her. She backed away.
"A kiss for the bride," I said, pouting. "That's all."
She laughed. "You'd swallow me." But she approached and stood up on tip-toe and bussed my nose.
"Break it up," Willy said, a new authority in his voice. "I've got to put my signature to the sketch." He tapped impatiently. "Red. Lie down beside the sketch."
Red flushed and placed her hands on her hips. "Now look here, Willy. Don't you go getting too big for your boots!"
I guffawed. "It's the other way 'round! He'll be too small for his boots."
This diverted the quarrel enough for Willy to give me final instructions, which he did from a prone position on the floor. "Is Red lying down beside the sketch, Jim?"
"Yup," I said, squinting at the once-again two-dimensioned Red-head.
"Now I'll transfer my mind to the sketch. I'll move an arm when I'm there."
He closed his eyes, and a straining expression twisted his features.