“Oh, hello! Well, King, you’re the real guy. How are you?”
“Fine,” said King O’Leary, as cheerfully as such answers are given the morning after.
“Art, you may start the coffee,” said Flick, yawning. “What’s that—oranges?”
“You don’t remember decorating the hall?” said Tootles, lighting the percolator.
“I do,” said Flick, whose memory was remarkable. He added sternly: “King, the infant has stolen our Christmas presents—presents we gave the floor. All our kind intentions are beaten by this son of a thief.”
“I may have taken away the Christmas presents,” said Tootles unfeelingly, “but I was thinking of Christmas breakfast, likewise Christmas lunch and Christmas dinner.”
King O’Leary immediately, with an air of great apprehension, dove into his clothes, while they awaited the result of the search with increasing anxiety.
O’Leary straightened up, displaying a last remaining handful of small coin.
“Shake yourself,” said Flick, alarmed.