“Love sure makes a man sound noble,” said Jeffers philosophically. “If you mean that all he wants is to get Leda into the sack, you’re prob’ly right. Normal reaction, I’d say. Can’t blame Jake for that.”
“I don’t,” said Mike. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t spike his guns.”
“Course not. Again, a normal reaction.”
“What about Lew Mellon?” Mike asked.
“Lew?” Jeffers raised his eyebrows. “I dunno. I think he likes to talk to her, is all. But if he is interested, he’s bloody well serious. He’s a strict Anglo-Catholic, like yourself.”
I’m not as strict as I ought to be, Mike thought. “I thought he had a rather monkish air about him,” he said aloud.
Jeffers chuckled. “Yeah, but I don’t think he’s so ascetic that he wouldn’t marry.” His grin broadened. “Now, if we were still at ol’ Chilblains, you’d really have competition. After all, you can’t expect that a gal who’s stacked ... pardon me ... who has the magnificent physical and physiognomical topography of Leda Crannon to spend her life bein’ ignored, now can you?”
“Nope,” said Mike the Angel.
“Now, I figger,” Jeffers said, “that you can purty much forget about Lew Mellon. But Jakob von Liegnitz is a chromatically variant equine, indeed.”
Mike shook his head vigorously, as if to clear away the fog. “Pfui! Let’s change the subject. My heretofore nimble mind has been coagulated by a pair of innocent blue eyes. I need my skull stirred up.”