“Guess it’s Milton’s daughters you want to speak to about it,” said Monty. “They could have hidden father’s fountain pen if they’d wanted to. I’ve seen a picture of the old gentleman dictating to one of the girls, with two or three more standing around and looking like they were wondering what they could do to stop it. Do I have to wade through that Pondoroso stuff if I make the upper middle? Because if I do I’m going to stay where I’m at!”
“I love his free and untrammeled use of the English language,” murmured Jimmy. “‘Where I am at’ is so expressive, isn’t it? Of course, you both recall the Englishman who went home from a visit to this benighted land and criticised us for saying ‘Where am I at?’ He said it should be ‘Where is my ’at?’”
“That’s funny,” said Monty.
“Why not laugh a little, then?”
“I didn’t mean that the story was funny, although it is—or was once. I meant it was funny you should remember it. I forgot it so long ago!”
“Next time stop me, sweet one.”
“You didn’t give us a chance,” laughed Leon.
“Naturally. If you want to tell a funny story, do it quick before some Smart Alick says he’s heard it!”
“All this is bright and brilliant,” observed Monty, “but it doesn’t soothe the restless longing I have for excitement.”
“Wish we could go to the movies,” said Jimmy.