"He fell for it?"
"All over himself. Honest, Vi, it was a scream to watch his eyes pop. You could've clubbed 'em outa his bean without touchin' his beak. I'most died."
Miss Prim giggled appreciatively.
"You're a wonder, George," she applauded. "It takes you to think 'em out."
"Ah, I don't know," returned her admirer with becoming modesty.
"He's gone on her, all right, ain't he?"
"Crazy about her!"
"Think he'll make a play for her now?"
George demurred. Downright lying was all very well; he could manage that with passable craft, especially when, as in this instance, detection would be difficult; but prophecy was a little out of his line. Though with misgivings, he resorted to unvarnished truth:
"You never can tell about P.S. He's a queer little gink."