Mary Maroon then turned to Robert. "You got baby?"
Robert said, "Sure, this is my baby," patting Bobby on the knee. To Helen, he muttered, "What does she think, anyway?"
The four stared at Robert and Bobby and Helen in such obvious confusion that Robert jumped up nervously to turn the sound back on.
After the girls had gone home, Bobby was sent off to bed, and Robert, loosening his tie, demanded, "What's the matter with them, anyhow? Do they have to stare at me as if I were a damned biological error? Don't they know what a man is, for heaven's sake?"
"Really, Robert," Dora protested, blushing a deeper green.
"Well, for gosh sakes—"
"Those names!" Helen said. "Clara Ford, that's not too bad. I'm not so sure about Mary Maroon."
Dora nodded. "Mary White. Mary Black. So why not Mary Maroon? But Patricia Pontiac!"
Helen threw up her hands. "They must have made that one up. But Jack Jones!"