"Vell," the janitor mumbled, "it vas such a foolish talk as—but—vell, ven I come by I hear voman's voice says, 'Me loafs oo besser as oo loafs me!'"
Teed flushed and the faculty sat forward.
"Den I hear man's voice says,'Oozie-voozie, mezie-vezie—' Must I got to tell it all?"
"Go on!" said Teed, grimly; and the old German mopped his brow with anguish and snorted with rage: "'Mezie-vezie loafs oozie-voozie bestest!'"
The purple-faced members of the faculty were hanging on to their own safety-valves to keep from exploding—all save Professor Litton, who felt that his hearing must be defective. Teed, fighting in the last ditch, said:
"But such language does not prove the identity of the—er—participants. You said you knew positively."
The janitor, writhing with disgust and indignation, went on:
"Ven I hear such nonsunse I stop and listen if it is two people escapet from de loonatic-houze. And den young voman says, 'It doesn't loaf its Fannie-vannie one teeny-veeny mite!' And young man says, 'So sure my name is Lennie Teedie-veedie, little Fannie Newman iss de onliest gerl I ever loafed!'"
The cross-examiner crumpled up in a chair, while the members of the faculty behaved like children bursting with giggles in church—all save Litton, who had listened with increasing amazement and now leaned forward to demand of the janitor:
"Mr. Kraus, you don't mean to say that two of our students actually disgraced this institution with conversation that would be appropriate only to a nursery?"