“Pretty bloated,” agreed Ginger complacently. “Pretty bloated. We'll be able to get that two-seater if things go buzzing on like this. There was a letter for you. Here it is.”
“It's from Fillmore,” said Sally, examining the envelope as they went into the kitchen. “And about time, too. I haven't had a word from him for months.”
She sat down and opened the letter. Ginger, heaving himself on to the table, wriggled into a position of comfort and started to read his evening paper. But after he had skimmed over the sporting page he lowered it and allowed his gaze to rest on Sally's bent head with a feeling of utter contentment.
Although a married man of nearly a year's standing, Ginger was still moving about a magic world in a state of dazed incredulity, unable fully to realize that such bliss could be. Ginger in his time had seen many things that looked good from a distance, but not one that had borne the test of a closer acquaintance—except this business of marriage.
Marriage, with Sally for a partner, seemed to be one of the very few things in the world in which there was no catch. His honest eyes glowed as he watched her. Sally broke into a little splutter of laughter.
“Ginger, look at this!”
He reached down and took the slip of paper which she held out to him. The following legend met his eye, printed in bold letters:
POPP'S
OUTSTANDING
SUCCULENT——APPETIZING——NUTRITIOUS.
(JUST SAY “POP!” A CHILD
CAN DO IT.)
Ginger regarded this cipher with a puzzled frown.